The Pretend Things
by Judah Jones
Summary: There are certain things that shouldn't exist. With the Doctor, Gatsby Goode finds them and her life will never be the same. Luckily she doesn't want it to be. AU. Doctor/OC
1. Prologue: Not Yet

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor who.

**Author's Note:** Writing the doctor is difficult, but challenge accepted. This is an AU fic, by the way. More about Gatsby Goode's time period will be explained later on. Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

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><p>Prologue: Hello. I'm the Doctor. Basically…run.<p>

Great and terrible things were happening all throughout time and space, as great and terrible things tend to do, without discrimination. These things were happening everywhere, but not within the 32nd Empire of England, at least not according to anyone of importance. In fact, everything was just as it should be, plain and dull, no out of the ordinary going ons. Except perhaps one very small thing, which didn't seem small at all in Gatsby Goode's opinion, because she was dying.

Death was a perfectly normal and expected event, of course. The strange, great, and terrible thing with Gatsby Goode, was that no one could explain why exactly she was dying, and this is where our story begins. Or ends. Time is fickle. More or less, this particular moment in time led to other moments in time that led to adventures Gatsby never dared, or never knew how to, dream possible.

An ordinary hallway with ordinary, if bordering on horrendous, wallpaper, and two absolutely, disgustingly ordinary parents concerned with their daughter's swiftly declining health. Mrs. Goode leaned against the wall, feeling faint, as another doctor confessed that he could not help their daughter, because he had no idea what ailed her in the first place.

"She's healthy in every way," the doctor whispered. "Every test has come back clean."

"But clearly there's something wrong," Mr. Goode insisted. His neatly trimmed, graying, mustache shook as it normally did when he was either angry or troubled, which he was normally one or the other, more than usual both. This was the twelfth doctor he'd called and he was becoming desperate, in the tempered way of a British Royale. He'd become so desperate, in fact, that he hadn't even read the morning paper. His wife was equally, if not more, distraught., to the point that she'd begun only brushing her hair 50 strokes a day, instead of the traditional 100, and it was beginning to show in the diminished shine of her golden locks.

The Goode family was falling to pieces and everyone knew. It was the talk of London. Whispered rumors of Gatsby Goode's odd illness spread through the Regales. Even the Anathemas, exiled in their underground tunnels, had heard of the girl's condition. Just the other day, an Anathema woman had boldly shown up at the Goode's front door. Wearing one of those abhorred crosses around her neck, she'd screamed bloody about "God's punishment", until the doorman had politely beat her away.

"God's punishment," Mr. Goode had scoffed, as he and his wife prepared for bed the night before. "Those people and their fantasies." Mrs. Goode had silently agreed. God's punishment indeed. Everyone in their right mind knew that such things as those didn't exist. Then again, the Anathemas weren't in their right mind, were they? Those poor fools still believed in the pretend things, those dangerous pretend things that had cost so many lives nearly two hundred years ago in the three Great Wars.

Memories of the Great Wars brought shivers to everyone. It had been a dark and awful time of chaos. Savage religious clans had gone to war with one another; Christians against Muslims against Jews against Hindus against the Zoroastrians. Eventually they had all wiped each other out. From then on it was unanimously, with the exception of the Anathemas who still believed in the pretend things, agreed that the world was better without all of those outdated ideas. Gods, other worlds, and unexplainable things just didn't exist.

So Mr. and Mrs. Goode knew that their daughter's illness must have an explanation. They just hadn't found the right doctor yet.

"If you can't help us," Mr. Goode said stoutly, "We'll just have to call someone else."

"Do what you like," the doctor replied, bristling at Mr. Goode's implied insult. "But I can assure you, no one will be able to find a single thing wrong with your daughter."

"Nothing wrong?" Mrs. Goode hissed. "Other than the fact that she's dying."

Removed from the hallway, on the other side of the door from the Goode's and their doctor, Gatsby was tired of eavesdropping on her parents' conversation. She sunk further into her over-fluffed pillows and stared at the ceiling. It was all she'd had to do for the past two months and, understandably, the ceiling had become rather boring, if it was even interesting to begin with.

Gatsby was restless, also understandable for a sixteen year old girl who had been sentenced to bed for nearly nine long weeks. She was tired of the doctors poking and prodding, tired of her parents talking about her in low voices they thought she couldn't hear, and most of all, she was tired of being sick. She wished that she could just die already and be done with it all.

Gatsby threw aside her blankets and clambered out of bed, though she'd been expressly forbidden not to. She tiptoed barefoot to her vanity. It had been a present for her seventh birthday from a great-aunt she'd never met and Gatsby was rather fond of it. The table itself was bland white with nothing to define it from any other vanity, but the wide, oval mirror had a frame engraved with fantastic painted flowers in every shade of purple; flowers that almost looked real. Gatsby had never seen a flower in her entire life. She'd been born and raised in the city, where everything and everyone was grey and dreary. Art wasn't allowed in the 32nd British Empire. It inspired too much belief in the pretend things. So the flowers of her vanity mirror were the prettiest things Gatsby had ever seen.

She looked at her reflection and it looked back. When she grew too bored of staring at the ceiling, she stared at herself, as there was nothing else in her bedroom of interest. There wasn't even a window she could look out of, and even if there had been, there would have been nothing outside of that window worth looking at. The Goode's lived in a most respectable part of the city, so everything was respectably unoriginal. Not that anyone knew what originality was, because they'd never encountered it before.

Yes, the Goode's were one of the more prominent families in Britain. Mr. Goode was some government official, but it wasn't clear what his job actually was, besides attending public functions and impressing everyone with his uninspired parleys. Still, he was proud of his useless position, the same that his father and grandfather and great-grandfather had held before him. Mrs. Goode was also from a well-to-do family of Regales. She didn't work, of course, so she spent her time as most government wives did, by doing absolutely nothing. She sat in the parlor all day, every day, conversing about nothing with other wives, and living quite a lackluster life that she was very proud of. Before the sudden illness, Gatsby had gone to school with other girls and boys of her station, where they'd learned the usual mathematics and history. And that was how a family was supposed to be in the 32nd British Empire.

Gatsby had never wanted more, because she wasn't aware that there was more, and it's impossible to want what doesn't exist. Except she'd had dreams as a child, dreams that she couldn't remember, but she sometimes overheard her parents whisper about. She knew they were troubled by those childhood dreams, but Gatsby was unconcerned. Why should she worry over things she couldn't remember? Since she was ten years old, she'd taken the same grey pills that her doctor and parents explained would help her sleep better. Gatsby had never had difficulty sleeping. Then again, she always took her grey pills and she never asked questions and she never dreamed.

In fact, dying was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to Gatsby Goode. Unfortunately the fun of dying wouldn't last for long.

"Now wait a moment! You can't go in there." Mr. Goode's voice was louder than it had ever been, but the man who stormed into Gatsby's bedroom seemed not to have heard him.

Gatsby leapt to her feet, startled. The man in her room was unexpected. Unexpected things just didn't happen and this particular man was the very definition of unexpected. He was the strangest thing Gatsby had ever seen. Her parents seemed to agree, judging by the way they stood in her doorway, all in a fluster. Gatsby had never seen her parents anything other than calm or angry, never shocked. The man, however, was unconcerned with Mr. and Mrs. Goode. He seemed only to notice Gatsby.

"Hello," he said brightly. And he smiled. Smiles weren't necessarily uncommon. The genuine happiness behind this man's smile though was another thing Gatsby had never seen.

"Hello?" Gatsby replied.

"Perfect, perfect!" The man clapped his hands together. "You can talk."

"Of course I can," Gatsby snapped. She was offended and confused. Who was this man that thought he could just barge into her death room with the outrageous belief that she might be unable to speak? It was downright rude.

"Who are you?" Gatsby and her mother asked.

"I'm the Doctor." The man smiled again. Actually, he had never stopped.

"A doctor?" Mr. Goode seemed a good deal less flustered. "Of course, you've heard about our daughter's condition from a colleague. Was it Kimmel, the useless thing?"

"Er, right. Kimmel, lovely man, absolute git." The man turned to Mr. and Mrs. Goode for the first time since he'd entered the room. "Sir and Madam, I'd like a moment with your daughter, alone."

Mr. and Mrs. Goode exchanged weary glances. They weren't sure about this man, but he claimed to be a doctor and there really wasn't anything odd about a doctor coming to see their sick daughter. Nothing odd at all.

"Well, I suppose-"

"Perfect," the Doctor said again, shooing Mr. and Mrs. Goode from the room, before they could have second thoughts, which they wouldn't have anyways. With the door closed firmly, the strange man turned back to Gatsby. She felt suddenly uncomfortable in her white nightgown. There was something about the way he looked at her…No, it was something about his eyes in general. This man had seen things, thousands of things, and for a moment, a very brief moment, Gatsby wondered what they were. Of course, she quickly brushed these silly thoughts away. He was just a doctor. Nothing odd.

"There isn't much time," the Doctor muttered, no longer talking to her exactly. He moved briskly towards Gatsby. She thought he would prod and poke her like the others; instead he went right past her to the vanity and began tapping the glass of the mirror. "Running on a tight schedule," he said, running his thin fingers along the flowered frame, "Planets and people to save."

"Pardon?" Gatsby was finding it increasingly hard to think that this man was nothing odd. He was quite the opposite, and his hair was funny. It stood up all over the place, as though he'd just been in a fight.

"Not important," the Doctor said. He walked around the vanity, out of Gatsby's view. She heard more thumping, and then a green glow poured around the mirror. She peeked around to see. The Doctor was holding some strange instrument against the back of her mirror, which proved to be the source of the light.

"What are you doing?" Gatsby asked. She was more than a little miffed. She glared at the man with all the impetuous and arrogant ferocity of a dying sixteen year old, who was suddenly no longer the center of attention.

"A little bit of this and some of that." His answer hardly satisfied Gatsby, but before she could go on, he tucked the foreign instrument into his coat pocket and turned his focus back to her. He folded his arms across the top of the mirror and rested his chin against them.

"What's your name?"

"Didn't Doctor Kimmel tell you?" The man waved his hand, as though swatting an invisible fly.

"Well, it doesn't count unless you tell me yourself. A name isn't a name if someone else is naming it for you."

"I…I…" She didn't quite know what to say, so she decided to say the obvious. "I'm Gatsby Goode."

"Gatsby Goode," the man repeated. "Lovely! I met Fitzgerald, you know. Funny chap."

"Who?"

"Fitzgerald, the author…" The Doctor took in her blank expression. "Well, that's certainly odd."

"I'll say," Gatsby snorted, but she wasn't thinking of this Fitzgerald person. "What's an author anyways?" It was the Doctor's turn to be surprised.

"What's an author?" he exclaimed. "They write books."

"Books?" Gatsby was convinced this man was either speaking another language or that he was just insane. Perhaps both. She backed away when the Doctor stepped towards her.

"It's alright," he assured. And for some reason, Gatsby believed him. Certainly he was mad, but she didn't think he was dangerous. Actually there was something about him that fascinated her, though she knew it shouldn't. Still, she let him place his hands on both of her cheeks. He was so close their noses brushed. Gatsby didn't dare breathe. The Doctor didn't share her discomfort. He looked into her eyes, looking for something, and he let go with another smile, having not found whatever it was.

"That's good," he said, backing away. "Gatsby Goode, that's very good indeed."

"Do you know what's wrong with me?" Her heart leapt. Could this crazy doctor be the one that made the world make sense again?

"You're fine. At least you will be." The man moved towards her bedroom door. Gatsby followed him only a few steps.

"But I'm dying," she argued. The Doctor stopped. He walked back to her, close again, but no longer smiling.

"Gatsby Goode," he said in a low voice. "I promise you won't die. Not yet."

"But I'm-" The man put a finger against her lips to silence her. His hands were warm. Gatsby was too shocked to react. She'd never been touched by a stranger like that. Apart from her parents, twelve doctors, and a childhood nanny, she'd never been touched by anyone at all, and by those people only very rarely.

"You're perfectly fine." The man walked away again. This time she didn't follow. She couldn't quite remember how to move. Then he opened the door and left the room.

A second later the Doctor popped his head back through the door.

"Almost forgot!" he said, slapping himself in the face. "Stay away from mirrors."

"Mirrors?" Gatsby muttered.

"No time to explain now. Very important though."

"I don't underst-"

"In exactly…lets see…" He looked towards the ceiling, calculation something. "Three years, yes, that's right. In exactly three years from today you'll see me again. I'll explain everything then, but I must be going now. There's a spaceship in Delta 3 Sector XCTX that's headed for a very nasty…" He took in her blank expression again. "Oh never mind. You don't even know what a book is."

The man closed the door for a second time. Gatsby waited. She counted down a whole minute before she felt it was safe to move again. She collapsed on her bed, for it seemed her legs would give out from under her soon anyways. Her head throbbed. What had just happened? She wasn't going to die, after all, but why not? Gatsby didn't even know whether or not she should believe the man. Then again, some part of her couldn't help it.

"Remember," The Doctor's face appeared around the door once more. "No mirrors."

"Wait!" Gatsby cried, as he went to leave for the third time. "Who are you really?" The man smiled. Gatsby decided that she was starting to like that smile.

"Like I said, I'm the Doctor." And this time when he closed the door, it didn't open again.

Great and terrible things were happening all throughout time and space, but Gatsby Goode didn't know about any of them. Not yet. She only knew that she wasn't going to die. Not yet.


	2. One: Punctual and Patient

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Doctor Who. Duh.

**Author's Note: **Shit. What now? Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

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><p>One:<p>

"One day I shall come back. Yes, I shall come back.

Until then, there must be no regrets, no tears, no anxieties."

_Almost exactly three years later…Year 2211_

Time, as mentioned before, is a fickle thing. Especially for the Doctor. He and Time had been close companions for going on 910 years. Yet somehow he proved to be one of the least punctual beings in the universe, not for lack of trying. Occasionally he showed up at exactly the proper time, but this was more often than not by accident. When he meant to be somewhere at a specific time, he generally overshot by a few years, give or take a century. Time is no easy thing. Not even for a Time Lord.

So not unexpectedly, the Doctor was running a bit late. He parked the Tardis with even more reckless abandon than usual, leaving the brakes on as always. There was the sound he loved. That unmistakable groan. Or a gasp. Yes, the Doctor preferred to think of it as more of a gasp; the first breath of a new adventure. Hundreds of years traveling through time and space, and the Doctor still felt young every time he ventured somewhere new, somewhere unknown. He still experienced hungry, excited butterflies in his stomach. The possibilities just on the other side of the blue Tardis doors! Oh, it was the moment just before he threw them open that the Doctor loved most. _What next?_ he asked himself every day. _What next?_

Without bothering to check the atmosphere outside (there was no reason to, for he knew exactly where he was), the Doctor pushed open the Tardis doors and stepped into a darkened hallway that he'd visited once before, perhaps fifteen minutes ago. It was the year 2211, if he wasn't mistaken, and the height of the 32nd British Empire. It wasn't a time he was well acquainted with; rather boring in his opinion, but there was something interesting here now.

The Doctor tip toed down the hall, past the snoring Mr. Goode and his wife's bedroom, to the last door, slightly ajar, on the right. He paused, wondering if he might should wait until morning, but decided against it. After all, he was already here and he was already late. The Doctor strode into Gatsby Goode's bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Not much had changed in the three years, or fifteen minutes, he'd been gone. The walls were still grey. The windows were still non-existent. The ceiling was still a boring thing to stare at. Only two things had changed; the vanity mirror in the corner of the room was covered by a thick, black curtain, which judging by the dust in the folds, hadn't been opened in a long time, and the girl fast asleep in the rather large bed was three years older. Gatsby Goode hadn't died. In fact, she'd grown about an inch and regained the color in her cheeks.

The Doctor leaned over the sleeping girl. She was perfectly frozen, lying on her back, with her hands folded over her stomach; like a corpse. Not even her eyes moved beneath her pale eyelids. But she was breathing deep and steady. Watching her, the Doctor wondered if she would remember him. He remembered her clearly. Good old Gatsby Goode. It was really a wonderful name. Fifteen minutes ago, at least in his time line, she'd been on her deathbed, and what had amazed the Doctor more than anything else was how unafraid she'd been.

Fifteen minutes ago for him. Three years for her. But the Doctor wasn't easy to forget. He shone the green light of his Sonic Screwdriver over her face.

"Wakey wakey," he sing-songed. Gatsby Goode stirred just a bit. She was a deep sleeper. The Doctor pinched her up-turned nose until her eyelids fluttered open.

At first Gatsby assumed she was finally having a dream. An honest to goodness dream, like the kind her parents feared. She was dreaming about the crazy man who called himself just the Doctor. The crazy man who'd saved her life, even if she wasn't quite sure how. Gatsby smiled. It wasn't as terrible as her parents made it sound. Really he was just standing there. Gatsby wondered what a dream person would feel like. She lifted her hand to touch his face, and it felt real. Exceptionally real. Too horribly real.

Gatsby Goode realized she wasn't dreaming at all. She opened her mouth to scream, but the Doctor clamped his hand firmly over her mouth before any sound managed to sneak out.

"I'd rather you didn't," the Doctor whispered. Gatsby stared up at him wide-eyed, breathing through his fingers. _Three years_, he'd promised, _I'll be back in exactly three years from today._

"Now if I move my hand, you won't scream?" Gatsby nodded. The Doctor pulled his hand away and stepped back. _Does she remember? _he thought, as she narrowed her mossy green eyes and sat up against her headboard. _If she doesn't, this is rather awkward._

"You're late," Gatsby Goode accused, folding her arms over her chest.

"Am not," the Doctor argued. She pointed to the clock on her bedside table, frowning.

"You were supposed to be here yesterday and it's 12:06."

"12:06," the Doctor spluttered. "Six minutes! You're going to hold me accountable for six minutes? I was bloody saving a cruise ship from a nasty run in with a black hole. Pardon me for losing track of time."

Gatsby swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood. She circled around him. The man hadn't changed at all. He was even wearing the same clothes; crooked bow tie and those ridiculous, outdated suspenders. There wasn't a trace any time had passed since he'd left, because Gatsby hadn't forgotten him, not in the least. She remembered every small detail about him and their brief encounter, and though she'd tried her best to make herself believe he wouldn't be coming back in three years, she'd been admittedly surprised when he hadn't shown up the day before. Despite herself, she'd waited for him.

Now here he was again and Gatsby wasn't sure what to do. She wasn't sure if she was glad or disappointed. In the past three years, she'd grown up. Gatsby didn't like flowers anymore and she certainly wasn't interested in crazy men popping up in her bedroom at odd hours. At least that's what she told herself.

"You're mad," Gatsby stated. "And you shouldn't be here. It isn't proper."

"It isn't proper," the Doctor mimicked. He plopped into a plush armchair and kicked his feet onto the footstool. It felt good to stretch out his legs. Really, it had been a very long fifteen minutes. "And if I'm mad, why did you listen to me?"

"Listen to you?" Gatsby sniffed. She wanted to go back to bed. She'd firmly made up her mind that the Doctor should leave.

"Your mirror is covered," he said, jerking his thumb towards the vanity. "I'd say it's been that way for, oh, about three years." Gatsby's cheeks reddened in the dark. He was right. She hadn't looked at her reflection since he'd left. Not that she believed her illness had anything to do with mirrors and not that she believed this man was sane in the least, but there was a part of her that couldn't risk not trusting him. There was a very small part of her indeed, which she wouldn't even admit to herself existed, that thought maybe the man wasn't completely out of his mind. And in his defense, she hadn't died.

Gatsby sat on the edge of her bed and faced him. Like before, his eyes unnerved her. She felt like she could almost, for just a second, see the things he'd seen. Too many impossible things. The Doctor leaned forward in his chair, looking serious now.

"Why are you here?"

"Gatsby Goode," he said, holding her name delicately, "I'm here to explain everything. Well, not everything. That would take lifetimes and I'm not qualified to teach the subject of everything, but I'm here to tell you a small part of it."

"Why?"

"Because a large part of this small part of everything has to do with you." He was giving her a headache. She wished he would just speak plainly. She wished he wouldn't speak at all. Gatsby didn't care about any of it. There might have been a time, when she was younger and less sensible, that she would have been interested. Not anymore.

"I don't care," Gatsby snapped. "You're insane. Everything you say is insane." She stood again and glared down at him. "And if you don't leave now, I will scream."

The Doctor didn't move. He laced his fingers together and rested his chin in the basket he'd made of his hands.

"No you won't," he said. "Because I can see through you, Gatsby Goode. You're not like the rest of them here." His eyes sparkled. He whispered the last part. "Oh no, you're not like them, because you still look at the stars and sometimes, even though you don't let anyone know, you imagine that there's something great out there."

Gatsby shivered, though it was a warm night. She didn't like the way he was looking at her. She didn't like that what he was saying was true, because it was impossible for him to know anything about her, and she refused to admit that he was right. She refused to let his pretty words affect her. Gatsby's frown deepened.

"There's nothing out there," she stated firmly. "You're wasting my time with this nonsense. Please, just go."

The Doctor shrugged. He jumped to his feet, unphased. Oh well, he'd given it a try.

"Alright then," he said. "If that's what you want, I'll be on my way." He bowed to her at the door and flashed a smile, but as he left, the Doctor knew this wasn't the last he'd see of Gatsby Goode, because part of what he'd come to explain was that she was still in terrible and imminent danger.

Gatsby waited a moment after he'd gone before crawling back into bed. She stared up at the boring ceiling, unable to sleep, and then a strange sound made her sit up again. It was a groaning sound, or maybe more of a gasp, coming from the hallway. Gatsby ran across the room, threw open her bedroom door, and poked her head into the hallway. There was nothing. Everything was quiet. The strange Doctor was nowhere in sight. Closing the door, Gatsby wondered if maybe it hadn't all been a dream after all. Or maybe it wasn't the man who was crazy. Maybe it was her.

Gatsby didn't sleep for the rest of the night. The Doctor's words kept ringing in her ears. _You imagine that there's something great out there. _She pressed her face into her pillows. No, she told herself, he couldn't be right. She wasn't capable of imagining anything. Only that meant the man was real. It meant he'd really been in her room. It meant he'd really come back like he'd promised, and she turned him away. Something burned inside Gatsby, a strange sensation that ran throughout her entire body, and she had no idea what it was, because she'd never experienced curiosity before.

Meanwhile, while Gatsby tossed and turned, the Doctor stood outside of his Tardis and looked up at the unlit windows of the Goode household. He didn't plan on sleeping that night either, because there was an event he needed to attend the next day, and the Doctor was determined to be perfectly on time for once.

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><p>Gatsby Goode didn't dance. She sat with other girls her age, some older and a few younger, along the room, and talked, more often pretend to listen. She didn't have much more to say beyond the occasional nod or appreciative hum. Tonight, however, Gatsby was so preoccupied she was having trouble humming and nodding at the appropriate moments. Her thoughts were elsewhere.<p>

Gatsby had decided against telling her parents, or anyone else for that matter, about the mad Doctor's midnight visit. She'd stayed awake all night and when the dismal sun finally rose on grey and drizzly London, she'd agreed with herself that it was best just to forget him, something that was easier thought than done. Because the elsewhere of her preoccupation happened to have a great deal to do with him.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale. Perhaps we should go home." Mrs. Goode hadn't stopped fretting over her daughter's health since the incident three years ago. Gatsby blinked. She smiled a smile so watery it streamed quickly back into a frown.

"I'm fine, Mum. Maybe I'll stretch my legs though." Gatsby really just wanted to escape the buzzing conversations. All people did was talk about nothing. She'd never understood how they could keep blabbing. How hadn't they run out of things to say?

Gatsby circled the dance floor. She'd never enjoyed these public functions much. She wasn't even sure what this particular event was for; some benefit to raise funds for more grey buildings on the east side of the city probably. In truth, every function was another excuse for the Regale families to impress one another with their respectable drabness. As a government official's daughter, Gatsby was expected to attend, and she always did what she was expected to. That was just the way of things. Personal happiness was more of a luxury, as she'd learned early on.

So as Gatsby wandered through the room, hardly watching the dancing, she was perfectly miserable. She paused in a shadowed corner. They all looked the same. She saw her mother laughing at a joke that probably wasn't funny. She knew her father was smoking a cigar with the other men in the Study, discussing politics they knew nothing about. She pitied the girls her age, some older and a few younger, flirting with the boy's they would marry someday and come to hate, but never love, because love was another luxury in the 32nd British Empire. It was one of those "outdated ideas", Mrs. Goode, a prime example of someone who'd never loved, often said.

Gatsby had never seen love, so she wouldn't know what it looked like even if it was knocking at her own heart. She knew only a little bit more about happiness, something she'd experienced happenstance once or twice in nineteen years of life. She wondered though, about love, and whether it was as awful as everyone said it was. In school, they were taught that love was the root of misery. They were told the story of a boy and girl who fell in love, though they weren't supposed to, and how both of them died as a result. It was called Romeo and Juliet. It was meant to be lesson, but Gatsby had always secretly thought it was sort of lovely.

"They call this dancing. You should see the Oog-a-boo jig." Gatsby hadn't noticed the mad Doctor sidle up beside her, but she wasn't entirely surprised to find him there. She was surprised by what he was wearing, however.

"What is that?" she blurted, cupping her hand over her mouth to keep from laughing. The Doctor had changed from his suspenders to an outrageous orange tuxedo with a ruffled vest. Self-consciously, he straightened his violently purple bow tie.

"Well, I heard this was a flashy occasion." He scanned the room full of suits and dresses, all in various shades of grey, black, and white.

"You're flashy alright," Gatsby chuckled. Then she realized that she was actually laughing. She couldn't remember the last time such a thing had happened. She stopped quickly, remembering that she disliked this man.

"What are you doing here?" she asked sharply. Gatsby looked around, hoping no one had noticed her companion. Of course half of the room was watching them. The Doctor didn't exactly blend. Gatsby wasn't sure he was capable.

"I came to dance!" The Doctor kicked out his feet in a swift jig that nearly made Gatsby laugh again. She fought hard against it. "I do love a good party."

"You're following me," Gatsby accused.

"Ridiculous accusation." Gatsby folded her arms over her chest and raised a slender eyebrow. "Perhaps not so ridiculous," the Doctor relented. "Why don't we discuss it all over a dance?"

"What?" He was holding his hand out to her. Gatsby was both horrified by the idea of dancing with the madly orange man and with herself for somewhat wanting to do just that.

"I could teach you the Oog-a-boo jig, but it might be difficult with only two arms."

"You're crazy," Gatsby muttered, turning away from him.

"And you're quite rude." The Doctor stepped around her, blocking her escape route, and still holding out his hand. "It's the highest insult to refuse someone a dance." Gatsby felt her resolve crumbling. She'd wanted to forget him, but it was hard to do when he was so…so orange. She sighed.

"Just one." The Doctor beamed. They joined the end of a line as a new song began. The term song should be used very loosely in this paragraph, as music in the 32nd British Empire was banned. So the sound that came from the overhead speakers was more of a drone, a buzz, a deep and vibrating hum of sorts, with no rhythm and no beat and no lyrics. Basically it was the most boring sound to dance to, which might explain why the dances themselves left something to be desired.

The Doctor and Gatsby clasped their hands behind their backs and walked side by side in step with the others. At the end of the line, each couple broke apart and walked back to the beginning of the line to do it all again. There was no touching. There wasn't even any actual dancing involved. It was more of taking a stroll, in a line, with a partner, accompanied by a drone, a buzz, a deep and vibrating hum. The Doctor would have been bored out of his mind if there'd been any room left in his mind for boredom.

"The Oog-a-boo," he whispered, "use two of their arms as jump ropes, while they shake hands with as many people as they can with the other two. Whoever shakes the must hands is crowned the best dancer."

"You're making that up."

"Am not," the Doctor said defensively. "Have you ever been to an Oog-a—boo dance party? No, you haven't."

"Because Oog-a-whatevers don't exist." They'd reached the end of the line. Gatsby was turning to go back to the beginning, when the Doctor grabbed her arm and spun her. He ended the spin in a dip. Gatsby dug her fingers into his ruffled vest, afraid of hitting the ground, but he didn't let her go.

"Funny" he said with a grin. "They said the same thing about you, Gatsby Goode."

Gatsby regained her footing and pushed him away. She'd had enough of nonsense. Besides, more than 3/4ths of the room was watching them now, Mr. and Mrs. Goode included. Gatsby's cheeks grew hot.

"Thank you for the dance," she said coldly. Before he could spew anymore of his silly stories, Gatsby hurried away. The dance wasn't even over. She saw her mother swooping in from the other side of the room, and quickly darted the other way. Gatsby's heart pounded as she ducked into the Ladies' restroom. Her legs were shaky. It was a sensation that Gatsby had come to expect whenever the Doctor appeared. Somehow he managed to undo everything, even her control over her own body.

"Idiot," Gatsby muttered. She leaned against the sink counter and splashed cold water over her hot cheeks. "Doesn't even speak proper English." Yet the more and more she tried and tried to convince herself that the man was simply mad, the less and less she believed it. In fact, Gatsby Goode didn't want to believe that he was crazy. She wanted there to be Oog-a-boos with four arms and she wanted, more than anything, for there to be great and wonderful things out there.

"But there aren't," Gatsby whispered to the empty room. And that was why she really hated the Doctor, as he called himself. Yes, she hated him, she wanted him to go away, because he made her hope for things that could never be. Hope was more destructive than happiness or even love. Hope was the single worst pain anyone could ever feel.

Gatsby lifted her eyes to her reflection. She hadn't looked at a mirror in three years. Just in case. So it was strange to see herself now. Her eyes were unusually bright. They glimmered; sore and tired. Gatsby brushed her thumb under them and felt something warm, something wet. She wasn't sure why her eyes were leaking. She wasn't sure why she felt pain, when she hadn't been injured.

"They're called tears," a light voice said from behind. Gatsby spun around to find the esteemed Duchess Elwood, a family friend of the Goode's. Gatsby wiped at her wet eyes with the lacy sleeves of her dress.

"Apologies," she croaked, through the rather large lump in her throat, "I didn't realize anyone else was here."

"Don't worry, dear." Duchess Elwood pulled a handkerchief from her purse and passed it to Gatsby. When their hands brushed, for less than a second, a shock ran through Gatsby. She pulled away. Something wasn't right. Gatsby had known Duchess Elwood for her entire life. The lady had always been cold and aloof. She hadn't spoken a handful of words to Gatsby in nineteen years, yet now she was offering handkerchiefs and calling her _dear_.

"What's made you so upset, dear?" Duchess Elwood asked. She stood close to Gatsby. Too close.

"N…nothing. I'm fine."

"Oh no you're not." Duchess Elwood smiled, but it wasn't pleasant at all. She looked at Gatsby and there was something hungry in her eyes. She reached out her hand to touch Gatsby's wet cheeks. "How beautiful it is to cry," she hissed. Gatsby tripped backwards against the sink counter.

"I should go back," she stammered. "My parents will…" Suddenly Duchess Elwood wrapped her ringed fingers around Gatsby's wrist. She was stronger than she looked. Gatsby struggled to slip away, but Duchess Elwood's grip was painfully tight. Something was certainly not right. The Duchess didn't look anything like the Duchess anymore. There was a darkness moving behind her typically blank eyes, a darkness that turned Gatsby's blood cold.

"We've waited a long time for you, dear," Duchess Elwood growled, as she twisted Gatsby's arm behind her back and turned her to face the mirror.

"What are you talking ab-" Gatsby's tongue turned to dust in her mouth, incapable of speech, for she was looking at her reflection again. Only it wasn't exactly her own. The image in the mirror grinned back at her. It was horrid, chilling, fascinating. Gatsby couldn't have turned away even if Duchess Elwood hadn't been holding her in place.

Gatsby's reflection's lips were moving, silently beckoning her closer. Gatsby leaned forward. Her nose touched the cold glass. Perhaps even more unusual than a reflection that moved of its own will, was the fact that Duchess Elwood, standing just behind her, didn't have a reflection at all anymore. Thick, black fog had taken her place. It filled the empty spaces of the mirror around Gatsby's reflection.

Then she could hear it. The faintest murmur behind the glass. The saddest voice, perhaps voices, Gatsby had ever heard, all calling to her. _We've waited so long_, she heard. _Come to us, dear. Come._ And Gatsby wanted to go to them. Surely it was what she was supposed to do. Surely.

"I'm coming," Gatsby said against the glass. She didn't notice the tears falling rapidly down her cheeks.


	3. Two: Special Spark

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who. But Gatsby and the Venatici are all mine.

**Author's Note: **Two chapters in one day. I haven't been this invested or excited about a story in quite some time. Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p>Two:<p>

"No, I have a thing. It's like a plan, but with more greatness."

"Thank you for the dance," Gatsby Goode said coldly. The Doctor watched her dive into the crowd of grey and grim party-goers. In all of his 910 years, he'd never had such difficulty with a woman before. He prided himself on being exceptionally charming. Honestly, what woman wouldn't be swept of her feet by a witty, time travelling, rather handsome (if he may say so himself), and stylish extra-terrestrial being? It had never happened to him before. Certainly he'd had girls run after him, but never away from him, and Gatsby Goode was running as fast as she could.

The Doctor stood for a moment at the end of the dance line. He felt a bit ridiculous now in his orange suit, standing alone. If Amy had been there, she wouldn't have let him leave the Tardis dressed like that. Oh Amelia Pond. The Doctor missed her something awful. It had been five years, in normal time, since she'd decided to settle down with Rory, and the Doctor just hadn't been able to find another companion. Perhaps the real problem was that he hadn't wanted another one.

By the time humans reach their 20th birthday, they're already dead tired. Living, as it so happens, is an exhausting task. Living alone is even worse. At 910, the Doctor was plumb tuckered out. Sometimes he thought about retirement; sipping umbrella drinks on the ruby moon of Galactic Three. He thought about just leaving the Tardis behind somewhere and slipping into the anonymity of time. But then there were planets and people to save, people like Gatsby Goode, and the Doctor knew there was going to be no retiring for him, at least not until he either died at last or all was at peace in the universe. Only one of those two things was a possibility.

So as tired and lonely as he was, the Doctor kept going. He straightened his bow tie and chased after Gatsby Goode. Actually he chased after the woman who was chasing after Gatsby. The Doctor might have been getting old, but he was as keen as ever, and Duchess Elwood hadn't escaped his notice. Her eyes hadn't left Gatsby throughout the entire night, not once, which the Doctor had found highly suspicious. He found it even more suspicious that the Duchess should trail after the girl, when no one else in the room, not even her parents, seemed to pay much attention to Gatsby Goode at all.

The Doctor paused at the door to the Ladies' room. It was locked, of course, but 23rd century locks were no match for a sonic screwdriver. The door popped open just a crack. There was no sound apart from the awful droning music from the main room. Carefully, the Doctor pushed open the Ladies' room door, hoping that his suspicions were correct and he wasn't about to intrude upon two ladies in the midst of their private toiletry business. It was his lucky day. Or not so lucky, depending on who's asked. Gatsby, for instance, probably would not think her situation was very lucky at all.

Duchess Elwood turned sharply and glared, with absolutely not normal black eyes, at the Doctor in the doorway. Distracted, her hold on Gatsby failed, and the girl collapsed to the tiled floor. It seemed some spell had been broken. The voices in Gatsby's head faded. She blinked, not knowing where she was for a moment, and not knowing what had just happened. And why in the world was the Doctor in a Ladies' restroom?

"Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt," the Doctor said brightly, stepping further into the room. "Actually I did."

Duchess Elwood then did something terribly shocking. She growled at the Doctor. She positively, without a doubt, issued the most disagreeable and un-ladylike sound. Gatsby was further horrified to notice for the first time that the Duchess' eyes seemed to be made of the same black fog she'd seen in the mirror. The mirror…the…It all came back to her.

"Doctor!" Gatsby gasped. "There's something wrong with her!"

"Yes, I'd say you're quite right about that." The Doctor was looking at Duchess Elwood, interested and puzzled. Gatsby shrieked when she saw what had him so enthralled. That awful black smoke was streaming from the Duchess' unhinged mouth. It was filling the room.

The Doctor slid across the slick floor to where Gatsby was curled under the sink counter, immobilized by fear and perhaps a pinch of awe.

"What…what…?"

"Oh, now you want an explanation," the Doctor grumbled. He grabbed Gatsby's hand and yanked the girl to her feet. "Come on," he ordered. "And keep your hand over your mouth." Gatsby didn't obey immediately. She was far too stunned to do anything. The smoke kept rolling out of the Duchess, but it wasn't smoke. It was alive? No, impossible.

"Humans," the Doctor said in exasperation, giving a Gatsby a great tug, "you'll sit and watch a comet come straight for you, just because it's pretty." Not knowing any other way to win her attention, the Doctor pinched Gatsby's wrist hard. The girl yelped and finally looked at him, granted furiously.

"What did you do that for?" she snapped.

"Trying to save your life. Thank me later. Let's go." The Doctor pulled Gatsby stumbling along behind him. They crouched low as the black smoke writhed around them. Gatsby buried her face in her arm until they tumbled back out into the hallway. The Doctor slammed the door shut behind them and pointed his funny instrument at the knob. Still the smoke unfurled from underneath the door. Gatsby shook as she coughed and backed away from the Doctor.

"Who are you?" she demanded. "What was that…that…thing?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm only crazy, remember?" Gatsby's cheeks reddened. She was beginning to think maybe she'd been wrong. The Doctor looked at her hard.

"Gatsby Goode, I'm about to ask you to do something extremely difficult. So difficult, in fact, that it's nearly impossible, and it might just get you killed."

"Yes?" Gatsby said shakily, expecting the worst. The Doctor held out his hand.

"Trust me," he said. She thought about all that had just happened. There wasn't much that Gatsby thought she could trust anymore. After all, it seemed everything she'd ever been told was a lie. Then again there was one person who had been honest with her. Pulling in the deepest breath she could manage, Gatsby took the Doctor's hand.

"What now?" she asked, putting all of her faith, putting her entire life, in a complete stranger's care. The Doctor's answer didn't reassure her that she'd made the right decision.

"I'm working on it."

* * *

><p>Gatsby still didn't know what the Doctor meant by "working on it" by the time their hover-taxi shuddered to a halt at the Goode mansion. Too shaken by the night's events to count out the correct change, she dumped the contents of her purse into the driver's hand, a few stale jelly beans included, and followed the Doctor to the front door, where he was already fiddling with his strange device.<p>

"What are you doing?" Gatsby asked.

"Unlocking the door," he said, as though everyone unlocked doors with green flashy things. She nudged him out of the way, pulled a heavy, silver key from the sash of her dress, and jammed it in the lock. There was a satisfying click.

"Screwdriver's more fun," the Doctor muttered. He followed Gatsby into the dark foyer with a tad less spring in his step.

"That thing's a screwdriver?" The Doctor flashed the green light in her face.

"It's sonic," he bragged. "Now come along." Gatsby hurried after the Doctor as he led the way in her own home. It was troubling the way he seemed to know exactly where he was going. She still wasn't sure whether he could be trusted, but there wasn't much else she could do. Besides Gatsby couldn't deny that she felt, dare she say, excited. In fact, she hadn't felt so alive since she'd nearly died.

"So that smoke," Gatsby huffed, taking the stairs two at a time to keep up with the Doctor, "Care to explain?"

"It wasn't smoke."

"Of course it was."

"Was not." The Doctor leapt to the top of the staircase and turned sharply to the left. Gatsby had never realized just how unnecessarily large her house was. "It's a Venatici."

"Vena-what?" They were racing down yet another dark hallway. The Doctor paused to face Gatsby. Even in the dim light, he could see the spark in her eyes. Oh, he knew that spark. He'd seen it in Amy and Donna and Martha and Rose and so on. It was a very special spark.

"Venatici," he repeated. "It's a bit of a long story."

"Talk fast," Gatsby said. The Doctor smiled. He continued walking to the end of the hall, straight to Gatsby's bedroom. She trailed in after him.

"The Venatici are old. A billion years older than you. They're made of mostly hydrogen gas and a few other boring odds and ends. In their natural form they look just like smoke."

"So they are smoke!"

"I said _look_ like. Don't you listen?" The Doctor was looking around the room and wiggling his fingers. Gatsby nearly asked what he was doing, but decided there were more important questions at the moment.

"Alright, so these things…"

"Venatici," the Doctor supplied.

"Right, these things," Gatsby carried on, "Why were they inside the Duchess?" The Doctor clapped his hands together.

"That's the fun part," he cheered. "I wasn't sure until I saw it for myself, but now…" He trailed off and hurried across the room to Gatsby's covered vanity. Just as he'd done three years ago, he circled the mirror, tapping it with his screwdriver.

"Yes, wonderful," he muttered, momentarily forgetting that he wasn't alone. "Brilliant! That's just brilliant!"

"What is?" Gatsby huffed, slightly annoyed. She felt increasingly out of the loop and more than a little stupid. The Doctor peeked at her over the covered mirror.

"A very, very, impossibly long time ago the Venatici were exiled to the Whirlpool Galaxy by Convention 15 of the Shadow Proclamation."

"Shadow huh?"

"Try to keep up, love," the Doctor said, patting Gatsby's cheek. "Shadow Proclamation doesn't matter right now. Story for another day."

"So why were they exiled then?"

"The Venatici are nasty buggers. They're essentially formless. They can't feel. They can't taste or smell. They're just intelligent, super intelligent, blobs of hydrogen. Now imagine that." The Doctor leaned in close to her, his eyes burning. "Imagine being alive, but not alive." Gatsby remembered the hungry look in Duchess Elwood's eyes and the way she'd seemed so fascinated with Gatsby's tears. She tried to imagine what it would be like if she couldn't feel or taste, and it was the saddest existence she could think of. Even sadder than her own.

"So it was inside the Duchess to…" Gatsby struggled to piece it together. "It was using her to have senses?"

"You're good, Gatsby Goode," the Doctor said.

"So these things can just crawl into our bodies?"

"Not quite." The Doctor was staring at the mirror again. "There isn't enough room in your tiny human bodies for two life forms. The Venatici have to drain the original life force before they can move in." Gatsby decided to ignore the bit about "tiny human bodies".

"What do you mean by drain?" She didn't like the sound of it. Judging by the Doctor's grimace, he didn't either.

"What did you see in the mirror? Think about it."

"Well, I saw my reflection." Her reflection, but it hadn't really been her. It had moved by itself. It had been alive. "Reflections!" Gatsby cried. "These things are our reflections!"

"Not always. Very rarely. In your case, yes."

"So when I was sick…" Slowly she was beginning to see the big, frightening picture. "These things-"

"Venatici."

"These things were draining my life force. They were trying to steal my body!" Gatsby felt sick. She fell back onto the bed, unable to stand any longer. It was all too much to take in.

"The process takes years," the Doctor explained, oblivious to Gatsby's bloodless face. "They'd been working on you for quite awhile by the time I came, but they're trapped in the mirrors. How did they get there? How did they get here? To you. Why you?" He was talking to himself again. He parted the black curtain over the mirror less than an inch and saw the quick reflection of his own eye. Gatsby wasn't thinking about mirrors though. Something else was bothering her.

"What happened to her?" she whispered. "Duchess Elwood, that thing left her body. Does that mean she's okay?"

"No, she'll have been dead for awhile now." The flippant way he said it just made Gatsby even sicker. Duchess Elwood was dead. Gatsby would have been dead if it hadn't been for this mad Doctor. That black, evil smoke would be living in her body now. The room was spinning. Carpet rolled under her feet live waves.

"Doctor," she said faintly. "What do we do? How do we stop them?"The Doctor flashed her a smile over his shoulder. She had the feeling that she wasn't going to like what he was about to say.

"We're going to have a little chat." And with that he threw open the curtains that Gatsby had kept closed for three long years. There was her mirror with the pretty flowers that she used to love, but it wasn't the same. Gatsby almost slid off of the bed. She clasped her hands over her mouth. There was no reflection at all. Every inch of mirror was covered in twisting black smoke and the border had somehow decayed. The entire frame was rotten. The flowers were gone.

"Hello there," the Doctor said, bending over for a better view. To Gatsby's surprise, the mirror replied. That same voice she'd heard in the Ladies' room echoed through her mind. It was one voice and many voices all at once. It was a mournful chorus.

_We've been waiting waiting waiting._

"Waiting for what?" the Doctor asked. He seemed to have no problem talking to the thing. Gatsby could hardly breathe.

_You can't stop us, Doctor. You can't save her._

"Save who?"

"Me," Gatsby said quietly. She didn't want to believe it, but the voices were laughing. It was a terrible thing, such a sad laugh.

_Gatsby Goode. She's ours._

"Small problem," the Doctor said, standing up.

_Problem?_

"Yes, a rather significant problem. Me." The Doctor wasn't the carefree, mad man he'd been moments ago. "You can't just take other people's bodies. It's called stealing."

_We will feel. We will touch touch touch._

"I'm sorry. I truly am and I wish I could help you, but I won't let you have the girl." And the voices laughed louder. The room was spinning faster and faster for Gatsby. She could hear them calling to her. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the black smoke in the mirror. In fact, she didn't even want to anymore.

_But we already have her._

The Doctor wasn't able to reply, for Gatsby had at last fallen off of the bed. She lay limp on the floor. The Doctor kneeled before her. He found a faint, hardly even there, pulse.

"Gatsby," he barked. "Gatsby Goode, come back right now." This wasn't part of the plan. The Doctor hadn't expected this and he always expected just about everything. Still Gatsby didn't respond. He realized his mistake too late. He shouldn't have drawn back the curtains with her in the room. The Venatici already had too strong of a hold on her. They'd already been draining her for years, so it had only taken them a second more to take her. But then why was she still alive? The Doctor turned back to the mirror as he began to understand.

"What've you done with her?" he demanded.

_She is with us now. _

"With you? Why? Why do you need her? She's nothing. She's no one."

_She is stronger than all of them. We will have all of her._

"Not just her body," the Doctor muttered, thinking out loud. "You want her soul too."

_We want to feel everything._

"But if she's with you…where are you? Not here. You can't survive in this world without bodies. You're trapped in the glass, in the mirrors, in Gatsby's mirror…think…think…" The Doctor pounded his temples. Then it struck him. Every single piece of this mystery fell into perfect place.

"Gatsby's mirror," he cried. "Oh, you are smart! You've gone and made yourself a portal between this world and your own in the Whirlpool Galaxy. Which means I can do this!"

The Doctor twiddled with his screwdriver for a moment, before the most blinding green light filled the room. When it faded he was gone. The curtains of the mirror were closed. And that was how Mr. and Mrs. Goode found their daughter's room when they returned home. All in a panic, they found their only child sprawled across the floor of a seemingly empty room, deathly white, and barely breathing.

It was the strangest thing, but it seemed Gatsby Goode was dying again, only this time someone knew why. And that someone was working on a way to stop it from happening.


	4. Three: Out of this Whirl

**Disclaimer: **As you've probably heard by now, I don't own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** So the adventure begins. Twists and turns should be expected. Crazy things. Read, review, and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p>Three<p>

"There are worlds out there where the sky is burning,

and the sea is asleep, and the rivers dream.

People made of smoke and cities made of song."

The Whirlpool Galaxy, or M51, can only be described as one of astronomy's galactic darlings. Well, it can be described in great detail with a thousand scientific terms that no one really understands, but the Doctor wasn't thinking of its atmospheric make-up as he bobbed just on the other side of Gatsby Goode's mirror. He could still see her room, so very far away, through the glass, as he held onto the frame for dear life. Imagine a mirror floating in the middle-of-nowhere of space. If they hadn't just kidnapped someone the Doctor was growing rather fond of, he might have been more impressed by the Venatici's genius. Honestly, it was remarkable.

Yet the Doctor had other matters to worry about. Like the fact that he was dangling in mid-space and his fingers were slipping. Perhaps he should have thought things out more thoroughly. He wished that he'd at least taken the time to bring the Tardis with him. It was a common mistake, but people often assumed that the Doctor always knew what he was doing, when in fact it was quite the opposite. He never knew what he was doing. He was just the luckiest and unluckiest being in the universe, and he couldn't hold onto the mirror frame for much longer.

Taking in a deep breath, his two hearts racing, the Doctor simply let go and closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he found himself drifting among the stars with nothing to hold onto. Oh, the Doctor knew about great, big, old space. It was his playground. This was something different though; something fantastic.

The Whirlpool Galaxy, twenty-five million light years from Earth in the Hunting Dogs constellation, is perhaps one of the most beautiful galaxies in this dimension and the next. It also happens to be one of the most dangerous. Though drifting aimlessly through any Galaxy without any form of a spaceship is usually dangerous. In fact, the Doctor should have been dead, but he hadn't just leapt through the Venatici's portal blindly. He'd had a hunch, which thankfully proved to be more than a hunch. The Doctor was suspended in an oxygen corridor that had been made many years ago when the Venatici were exiled here.

The Whirlpool Galaxy is the grand spiral staircase of space. It is two interconnected roads of stars and dust; one road leads to open space, while the other ends in a nest of infant stars. Basically it is a star-formation factory with a black-hole heart.

Safe in his oxygen corridor between the two roads, the Doctor watched the birth of the stars. Gathering storm clouds of gaseous material collapsed along the spiral's bright-pink outer edges. He could hear the stellar winds. He could feel the shock waves of supernova blasts, subdued in the protective oxygen corridor. From all of the madness and mayhem, the complete and utter chaos of beginning, brilliant clusters of blue stars lit up along the Whirlpool's roads like city streetlights. It was the sight of a lifetime. Even the Doctor was awe-struck, but he reminded himself that he'd come here for a reason.

Clearing his head, the Doctor paddled down the oxygen corridor. _Swimming in space_, he chuckled to himself. _Doggy paddling in the Hunting Dogs constellation._ He wished there was someone else around to hear his joke. Amy wouldn't have found it funny at all. Rose might have laughed though. He wondered if Gatsby would.

"I'm coming, Gatsby Goode," he muttered, swimming harder. The Doctor wasn't sure where the oxygen corridor would take him, but he had another hunch, or more of a desperate hope, and if he was right then it would lead him straight to where the Venatici were keeping Gatsby. Well, keeping her life force. Some people call it a soul. Or spiritual energy. Or a collection of thought particles. The Doctor, however, didn't have time to bother with philosophy, because if the other half of his hunch was correct, the Venatici would be devouring Gatsby's life force (soul, energy, thought particles) soon. If they hadn't already.

* * *

><p>Lying. It's that thing humans and most other life forms do to make themselves feel better, to make other people feel better, to understand an incomprehensible universe, or to conceal secrets that are typically revealed anyhow. Currently Gatsby Goode was lying to herself for the first reason, and the lie was the most common of all for any species; everything is going to be okay. She was having a rough time actually believing this. In fact, she was having a rough time believing anything.<p>

The world was simple, the biggest lie of all, but it's what Gatsby had always been told. The world was simple and nothing exciting ever happens. So far in her life it had seemed like the truth. Now Gatsby was beginning to realize the she'd been living the grandest fib of them all, because the universe is a chaotic whirl of unexpected complexities. Such as her current situation.

Gatsby didn't know where she was. One second she'd been in her bedroom, talking to smoke, and the next she'd woken up in a bubble. Yes, a bubble. That was the only way she knew how to explain it. She was in a spherical orb of shimmering transparent walls. But it was the thing just beyond those walls that interested her most. There were lights; the most brilliantly blinding lights she'd ever seen. They were too bright to look at for longer than a few seconds, so she blinked every few seconds and kept looking. In fact, she couldn't look away. Things were exploding out there. She could feel the tremors all around her. The transparent walls shook. _They can't be very stable_, she thought.

Gatsby Goode was terrified. She'd never been so awfully afraid in her entire life, and judging by the state of things, she didn't have much life left. Still, Gatsby couldn't deny that she was happy. She was completely and undeniably happy in this bubble. It was even a bubbly feeling. It was so much more than the two happiness' she'd felt before that she was beginning to think that maybe this was what it felt like to be in love. _If this is where I'm going to die_, she thought, _at least I've seen pretty things._ Things a thousand times more beautiful than the flowers of her vanity mirror.

Gatsby was so enthralled by the lights outside of her bubble that she didn't notice the Doctor swimming towards her in his orange suit, which is really a difficult thing not to notice, until he called out to her.

"There you are!" he cried, paddling to her perch in the center of the bubble. Then Gatsby did something even more unexpected than floating in a bubble in the middle of space. She hugged him. The Doctor wasn't sure what to do. He would have been caught off balance had there been any gravity. Clumsily he patted her back and drifted a few inches away when she finally let go, her cheeks flaming.

"I'm glad you're here," Gatsby said. It wasn't a lie at all, but it made her feel better just to say.

"That's a first." The Doctor grinned.

"What happened? Where are we? How did you get here?" The Doctor held out his hands against her flood of questions.

"I'll start with the easiest," he said. "We're in space."

"Space!" Gatsby yelped. She looked outside of the bubble, hardly daring to believe him. "Impossible."

"Quite possible." Despite the peril of their situation, the Doctor couldn't help but smile at the awe-struck expression plastered across Gatsby's face in the glow of starlight. "See those," he pointed to the lights she liked so much, "Those are brand new stars, just out of their cradles."

"Stars," Gatsby whispered. "But shouldn't we be dead. I mean, how are we even breathing?"

"We're in an oxygen dome, built by the Venatici."

"Okay." Gatsby was trying to wrap her mind around all of it. All of space. She turned back to the Doctor.

"Okay," she repeated, "So how did we get here?"

"Your mirror's a portal." He said it like an everyday thing.

"Right, and that's a normal I suppose."

"Not at all." Gatsby laughed. She didn't even bother trying to smother the sound with her hands. There was no point. She was already in space; she might as well laugh.

"This can't be happening," she said after she'd calmed down. She looked out at the bright lights again.

"Says who?" _Everyone,_ she thought in reply, but didn't say. Obviously everyone had been wrong. The Doctor hated to ruin her moment. He hated to ruin his own moment, but someone had to keep in mind that they were in terrible danger.

"Gatsby, I know it's lovely," he drifted between her and the stars, "But we really ought to be going."

"Do we have to?" she asked wistfully, never wanting to leave. She'd forgotten all about the Venatici. The Doctor reminded her.

"Considering that the Venatici will be here any moment to assimilate you, I'd say yes."

"Assimilate me?" Gatsby snapped, falling back to reality too quickly. She certainly didn't like the sound of that.

"Chow down on your life force, yeah."

"My what?"

"Soul, spiritual energy, particles of thought. Whatever you like to call it. I prefer globby bits."

"But I thought you said they only take people's bodies!"

"Well, I was wrong." Now that was surely impossible.

"So," Gatsby said slowly, looking down at her body, "I'm just a globby bit. What have they done with my body?"

"It's safely passed out on your bedroom floor. You may have a stiff neck tomorrow."

"I'm at two places at once," Gatsby wondered.

"No, you're only here. Your bodies just an empty shell. It's nothing at all, but we've got to stuff you back in there." That didn't sound pleasant at all. "You won't feel a thing," the Doctor added, reading her expression.

"Can you swim?"

"Yes, but I don't see why that's important right now. Doctor? Doctor!" He was paddling away.

"I'm a big fan of the butterfly stroke," he called back to her. Then he rolled over onto his back and kicked his feet. "But the back stroke is more relaxing." Gatsby just stared at him for a moment, before she laughed again and swam after him.

"We're swimming in space," she giggled.

"We're doggy paddling in the Hunting Dogs Galaxy," the Doctor added. He was happy when she laughed even more. Perhaps he was funny after all. Together they power stroked, butterflied, and high elbow catched down the corridor that the Doctor had just travelled. So far this rescue mission had gone smashingly. Until they reached the portal.

The Doctor stopped suddenly. Gatsby bumped into him. She didn't have to ask what was wrong. There in front of them was a roiling cloud of black, crackling smoke. She couldn't be sure, but Gatsby thought it looked terribly angry. She clutched onto the back of the Doctor's suit as that sad, furious now, voice washed over them.

"Oh hello," the Doctor said. "It's been a lovely visit, but we must be going now, if you'd just drift a little to the left…no…well, it was worth a try." The cloud grew angrier. Gatsby tugged on the Doctor's sleeve.

"What now?" she whispered into his ear, trying not to listen to the voices. He didn't have a chance to reply. The cloud was hissing at them.

_She is ours ours ours. The Doctor will not take her from us._

"Wrong," the Doctor stated. He was surprisingly calm.

_We are hungry. We will feast. We will feel all human things._

Gatsby threw her hands over her ears as a chorus of words struck them. _Hurt. Fear. Happiness. Love._

"But you already feel those things," the Doctor yelled over them. "You feel desire, don't you?" The cloud fell silent. Gatsby held her breath. Could he possibly talk their way out of this?

"You want to feel. You _want_. Don't you see, you beautiful things? If you can feel desire, you can feel everything else."

_We cannot. _The cloud argued. _But with the girl we will be able to. _Gatsby's hopes were shattered as the black smoke began to sizzle again. There was no possible way they could escape. Or so she thought. The Doctor merely shrugged.

"Well then, you left out a very important feeling," he said, reaching back to give Gatsby's hand a squeeze. She didn't know what it meant. Was he trying to comfort her? Was he trying to tell her something?

_We will feel everything._

"Then try anger!" The Doctor jerked Gatsby forward. They were headed straight for the black smoke.

"Remember," he called back to her. "Trust me and close your eyes." And she did. She trusted him absolutely. She closed her eyes and let him drag her into the heart of the cloud. Everything was still. The voices faded. They were swimming through the eye of the storm and all Gatsby felt was peace. She thought of the stars being born all around them. She held onto the Doctor's hand as tightly as she could. Then the worst sound she'd ever heard crashed over them. It made her very bones tremble. It was a wretched and desperate wail that filled every particle of her. Oh, it was rage. It was terrible. The Doctor swam harder, but Gatsby kept her eyes closed. The sound was physically painful, but just when she thought she couldn't take anymore…

It stopped. Gatsby's stomach dropped. She felt the softness of clean sheets against her cheek. She heard the patter of ice cold rain outside. Then she heard the crash of breaking glass.

"You can open your eyes now." Gatsby pried apart her eyelids. She was in her bed, in her room, in the 32nd British Empire. There was the Doctor standing amidst a sea of broken glass, smiling proudly.

"But we…we were…we were in space!" Gatsby cried. "And that thing…that smoke was…" She tried to sit up, but the room swam before her eyes. The Doctor pushed her back against her pillows.

"It's alright," he said. "You're home." Gatsby's brow scrunched up. She was beginning to think that she'd live in a permanent state of confusion from here on out.

"We swam through them," she muttered.

"Yep."

"But why did they let us go?"

"They didn't. The Venatici can't touch, remember? They can't do anything at all if you're not looking at them."

"And my mirror?"

"Sorry about that." The Doctor scooped up a broken chunk of glass. "The portal had to be broken. It's harmless now." He handed her the glass. She caught a reflection of her eye. A perfectly normal eye.

"I really liked that mirror," she said sadly.

"I'll buy you a new one."

"No thanks." Gatsby tossed the piece of glass hard to the floor. It split into two pieces. "Kind of freaks me out now." The Doctor chuckled. It was cut off when they both heard the unmistakable clunk of hurried footsteps.

"That'll be my parents," Gatsby sighed.

"That'll be my cue to leave." The Doctor pulled his sonic screwdriver from a pocket in his orange suit.

"Leave?" Gatsby swung her legs out of the bed.

"I don't do the meeting the parents thing."

"But you've already met them," she argued. The Doctor was jabbing his screwdriver into thin air. He didn't seem to have heard her. Gatsby found her bearing and stood. There was that strange burning behind her eyes. Tears, Duchess Elwood had called it.

"Doctor," Gatsby said faintly. "Don't go." He stopped and walked to her. He cupped her tear-stained face in his hands.

"We saw stars," she whispered.

"Gatsby Goode," the Doctor said, smiling sadly. "You truly are good. One of the best."

"There are more things like that out there, right?"

"Thousands of millions of wonderful and terrible things."

"Pretend things?"

"Even worse," his smile brightened. A decision was forming in his crazy brain. "Real things. I could show you." The Doctor had been alone for a long time, but he'd seen that special spark in Gatsby Goode's eyes. He'd seen the stars in her.

Gatsby took a step back. Could she really go with him? It had all been so frightening. But so wonderful.

"Will it be dangerous?" she asked.

"Extremely."

"I might die, right?"

"It's a definite possibility." But suddenly Gatsby Goode didn't care about dying. She only cared about living, something she'd never really done until the Doctor had popped into her life. She smiled and wiped away her tears.

"I'll go on one condition," she said seriously. "You have to take me to an Oog-a-boo dance." The Doctor threw back his head and laughed. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders. The sound of footsteps was growing louder. They were just outside of her bedroom door, in a normal hallway, with normal wallpaper.

"How do we get out of here then?" Gatsby asked. She knew her parents would never let her go. The Doctor didn't answer. He pushed a button on his screwdriver and then, out of nowhere, a blue box appeared at the foot of her bed. The Doctor threw open the box's blue door, while Gatsby gaped.

"Where did-?"

"Are you coming or not?" Gatsby shook her head. This man was most certainly insane, but she walked right into his magical blue box anyways, trusting he'd answer all of her questions eventually. Perhaps three years later.

From the hallway, Mr. and Mrs. Goode heard a quite peculiar noise, a groan or a gasp, but when they tumbled into their daughter's bedroom it was perfectly empty and neither of them could explain why.


	5. Four: Preferably Extraterrestrial

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note: **Bit of a short chapter. Interesting things to come. Guess who the Doctor's taking her to visit?

* * *

><p>"Still, the future lies this way."<p>

"This is insane!" Gatsby cried. She hadn't been able to take two full steps into the blue box before stopping to gawk.

"This is the Tardis." The Doctor was at the console twisting knobs, punching buttons, and running around the hexagonal panel like a mad man. He grinned at the pulsing time rotor. Home sweet home.

"But it's…" Gatsby took in the room and it was quite a lot to take in; blinking lights and strange levers. "Big," she finished. The description didn't entirely satisfy.

"Dimensionally transcendental," the Doctor explained in a bored tone that suggested he'd said this a thousand times before. "Bigger on the inside. So on and so forth."

Gatsby breathed deeply. She felt like somewhat of a bother now that she was here. While he circled the counsel, she stood by the door, unsure what to do. And she had so many questions, but the Doctor seemed busy, so she just continued standing until a sudden jolt tossed her to the floor. The Doctor clung to the counsel and pumped one victorious fist into the air.

"Don't just lay there," he said, dashing past Gatsby sprawled and dazed on the ground. "We're here."

"Where?" Gatsby clambered to her feet. She rubbed the back of her sore head. The Doctor was leaning against the doors with his arms crossed. He was trying to look serious and not doing a very good job of it at all. Excitement crackled around him, but Gatsby was beginning to regret her rash decision to run off in a magical blue box with a man she hardly knew.

"America," the Doctor answered. "1926."

"As in the year 1926?" Gatsby still hadn't moved. She squinted skeptically at the Tardis doors as though she could see through them. "I thought this was, like, your spaceship."

"Tardis," the Doctor repeated. "_Time_ and Relative Dimensions in Space. This baby can go anywhere in time or space. Well, almost anywhere." He patted the wall of the Tardis lovingly.

It was too much for Gatsby. She turned away from the Doctor, finding it difficult to breathe, and wrapped her arms around her churning stomach. _Time travel_, she thought, _impossible_. _What have I done? I'm stuck in 1926 with a mad man. Maybe I'm mad too. Is this even real?_ A thousand regrets and terrors went spinning through her mind. Gatsby didn't realize she was shaking until the Doctor gripped her shoulders to still her. He looked down at her, all of his excitement replaced by concern.

"It's a lot to take in," he said. "I could take you home, if you want." Gatsby considered the offer. She wasn't sure whether or not she wanted to be here, but she knew without a doubt that she didn't want to go home, not after seeing the stars up close.

"No," Gatsby sighed. "Could you just, I don't know, slow down a bit?" The Doctor never did anything slowly. He wasn't a patient being, never had been. There was a lot of time and space out there that he hadn't seen yet, a million things to do, and even for someone with possibly infinite years ahead of them, the to-do list of the universe required constant movement. Gatsby's life hadn't been like that. She'd been born and raised in one of the slowest, dullest moments in history. The Doctor had to remind himself that she was human and all of this was new to her. It was even stranger to her than it had been to his other companions, because in her world anything out of the ordinary didn't exist. Just about everything about the Doctor's life was impossible and forbidden. That's why he'd decided to start with the basics.

"Sloooooow," the Doctor said slowly. He let go of Gatsby, sat with his gangly legs folded beneath him, and patted a space of floor near him. "I'll tell you everything you want to know." Gatsby sat too. She curled her knees against her chest and rested her chin on them. Where to begin? Her questions were endless.

"Then tell me everything. Who are you? _What_ are you?"

"I'm a Time Lord." The Doctor held up his hand to stop her from asking _What's a Time Lord_? "Time Lords," he said, "are a race much, much older than humans. We're from the planet Gallifrey and we also happen to have two hearts."

"You're making that up," Gatsby said, scowling. "You look human."

"You look Time Lord." He grabbed her hand and placed it where the human heart is. She felt the expected thump. Then he moved her hand to the other side. She felt an unexpected thump and drew her hand away.

"You're an alien!" she cried. The Doctor frowned.

"I prefer extraterrestrial. Alien's a bit rude." Gatsby filed the information away. So she wasn't travelling with a mad man. She was travelling with a mad extraterrestrial. Marginally better.

"Then there are more of you?" Gatsby asked. The Doctor's expression darkened. She'd never seen him look so upset, not even when they'd been confronted by that nasty smoke monster. He wouldn't even meet her eyes and she knew that she'd asked the wrong question. She was going to apologize and take it back, when he answered.

"No, there aren't." The Doctor's voice was far away. "There was a war, a terrible war, and Gallifrey burned."

"What happened?" Gatsby asked tentatively. The Doctor looked at her again. She thought she could see a burning planet in his eyes.

"I did," he said flatly. A shiver ran through Gatsby. She decided not to press him further about the matter. In part because she was frightened by the Doctor right then and also because she could see that the subject pained him as much as it angered him.

"How old are you?" she asked, to change the subject. The Doctor took a moment to clear his mind of the black memories.

"910."

"Now I know you're lying." Gatsby narrowed her eyes. The Doctor smiled, but it was strained.

"Am not," he snapped childishly. "Time Lords regenerate. If anything happens to our bodies, we get new ones."

"Just like that? You pop into a new body."

"Well, there's a lot of boring science to the thing. We don't just _pop_ into a new body," he said, slightly offended.

"Then you're immortal."

"Not at all, but if you think I'm going to tell you how to kill me…" He trailed off and gave her a wink. Gatsby's brow scrunched up. The Doctor was beginning to expect that expression when she wasn't sure how to say what she wanted to say.

"910 years is a long time to be alone, isn't it?"

"I've got friends, loads of 'em. I'm very popular at parties." The Doctor was joking, but Gatsby suspected there was more to it.

"Now you've asked enough questions for today." The Doctor leapt to his feet and held out his hand to help Gatsby. She took it. "Though I'm sure you'll come up with a billion more in ten minutes." He dragged her to the Tardis doors. She was starting to feel a small pinch of the excitement that the Doctor always felt before pushing open those doors to a new adventure.

"Why have we come to America in 1926? I mean we can go anywhere, right?" The Doctor groaned. She certainly did ask more questions than any other companion he'd ever had.

"Gatsby Goode," the Doctor stood between her and the doors. "I'm going to show you what a book is." And he threw open the doors, only to be greeted by a face full of snow.

* * *

><p>It took exactly two minutes and forty-eight seconds for Gatsby Goode to stop laughing. Meanwhile, the Doctor sputtered out a mouthful of slush and danced about madly as snow melted down his face and beneath the collar of his shirt.<p>

"Cold!" he yelped. "That is cold!" He hopped out of the Tardis, lost his footing on the slippery ground, and vanished from sight. This was when Gatsby stopped laughing.

"Doctor!" she cried, tumbling down a snow-covered hill after him. She rolled to the bottom, but didn't see him anywhere. Gatsby continued to call his name, until a hand jutted out of the white ground. She dug furiously to uncover the buried Doctor. He sat up and shook a pile of snow from his head.

"Are all Time Lords so clumsy?" Gatsby chuckled. He replied by tossing a handful of powder in her face. It was the wittiest thing he could think up at the moment. They helped each other stand in the knee deep drift. Gatsby took in their surroundings for the first time. All she could see was blinding white. Even the sky and sun were pale. Her breath came out in pearly puffs.

"It's beautiful," she declared.

"It's all wrong," the Doctor disagreed. He was looking out at the winter-land with a frown. "It's supposed to be summer." Gatsby wasn't listening to him. She didn't even bother following him back up the hill to the Tardis. She was content where she was. Gatsby had seen snow before, but never so much. She stuck out her tongue to catch light flakes on her tongue. They tickled her face as they landed. This was almost as amazing as seeing the stars.

Gatsby was still enthralled five minutes later when the Doctor returned. She was watching a group of people in the distance. They were just pin pricks and they seemed to be moving incredibly fast down another hill.

"Wrong year," the Doctor panted. "It's 1915. We're in St. Paul, Minnesota. Must have underestimated a bit, but it shouldn't take long to jump ahead eleven years…and you're not listening to me." Indeed, she wasn't. Gatsby tugged on the Doctor's suspenders, her face lit up like the sun.

"Can we see what they're doing?" She pointed to the people in the distance. "Please," she wheedled. "It looks like so much fun."

"They're sledding," the Doctor affirmed, after squinting at them for a bit. "Haven't you ever been sledding?" Gatsby shook her head. He looked from the people to her pleading eyes, and then sighed. His plan would have to wait. It was impossible to say no when she looked so excited.

"Fine," the Doctor relented. "But only for a little while." He took in her clothes, the same dress she'd been wearing at the party in her own time period. "First we'll find something warmer to wear."

"I didn't bring any clothes." Gatsby realized for the first time that she hadn't brought anything at all. The Doctor didn't appear concerned.

"To the Tardis then!" With that, he spun around, kicking up a wave of snow, and raced back up the hill. Gatsby sprinted after him. She didn't regret her decision anymore. Not even the tiniest bit.


	6. Five: Nothing Could Happen in 1915

_"Something in the air. Something's coming. A storm's approaching."_

Scott had fallen in love, not for the first time and certainly not for the last, but he denounced all other affairs as fleeting stirs of the heart as he gazed moon-struck at Ginevra King with her curls as dark and smooth as night and bewitching eyes of liquid gold.

Scott hated the cold, the snow, and most things to do with weather; yet he'd leapt at the opportunity to join this particular sledding party on this particular hill on this peculiarly snowy day. Blowing on his chapped hands to warm them, he watched Ginevra King board her sled at the peak of the knoll and he watched the young man, who Scott hated, of course, for being so close to his love, give her a push. Ginevra King glided with all the grace of a summer bird, those glorious curls shadowing her descent, and then she stopped mere feet from where Scott stood.

This was his moment; the one he had been anticipating since he'd first caught a glimpse of her two weeks past as she'd crossed him on some street corner. The place hardly mattered. The time was inconsequential, for it was then that he'd fallen hopelessly in love with Chicago's debutante and doll. He'd hoped to corner her on several occasions, but Ginevra King was never without her usual swarm of adoring admirers; young ladies who wished to be her and young lads who wished to unlace her bodice.

Now she was alone, with no one else to volley for her attention, and Scott was alone. He wanted nothing more than for them to be alone together. Yes, he was nearly there. Just a few steps away…

"Hello chap!" It was the strangest man that appeared from nowhere. Though philosophers of the Revered and Resonating Temples of Rancaran would promptly argue that nowhere is quite nonexistent, for everywhere is somewhere, but Scott of course would know nothing of the Revered and Resonating philosophers of Rancaran. His only concern was the steady dissipation of opportunity.

"Mind if we have a go on your sled?"

"Pardon?" Scott tried to peer over the man's shoulder. Already another pair was zipping down the hill. They'd flock upon Ginevra King soon enough and he would surely die before another chance as promising as this arose for the two of them to be alone.

"Your sled," the man repeated. His accent was subtly foreign. As was his manner of dress. "That wooden thing just there."

"Sure. It's yours."

Scott moved to step around the man and was met with yet another stranger; a rather lovely young woman who he might have fallen in love with had he not already been quite solidly besotted.

"No no, we just meant to have a go or two. We don't want to keep it."

"Do whatever you wish," Scott snapped. Ginevra's companions were at this very moment dashing to join her. If he ran there was hope he could make it before them, but the stranger wouldn't budge out of the way. He was staring hard at Scott, in a manner that made the young man highly uncomfortable.

"Have we met before?" the stranger asked.

"I'm sure we haven't. Now if you'll just…" But the opportunity had passed, as they so often tend to do, and Ginevra King was once again flanked by her devotees. Scott's heart burned on its descent to the very soles of his feet. He'd never speak to her. She would remain a faraway temptation. Scott watched the group struggle up the hill for another round. The young man who had pushed Ginevra's sled was now helping her along, their arms wound together. Scott could have died. He kicked at the snow, though his true desire was to kick the stranger.

The Doctor, of course, was oblivious to the utter devastation he'd just caused. He was far too preoccupied trying to remember where he'd seen this lad before. He'd met a fair many people in his lifetime, so it took him an understandably long while to work it out.

"I know!" The Doctor cheered. He turned to Gatsby with a broad grin. "This is none other than Mr. Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald in the flesh." He turned back to a rather confused and irritated Scott. "You're younger than the last time we met. A bit spottier too. Haven't published _Flappers and Philosophers_ yet, have you?"

"Excuse me?"

"No, of course not, too early for that, but I must say it's one of the greatest. Oh, but you're still a baby."

"Sir, I do not know who you are, but-"

"No need to get puffed up," the Doctor said with a poke to Scott's expanded chest. Gatsby rolled her eyes and nudged the Doctor aside. She flashed the poor boy a smile.

"You'll have to excuse him," she said. "He isn't the most well-mannered."

"Clearly," Scott sneered.

"Yeah, well, I liked you better when you were older," the Doctor muttered. Gatsby elbowed him in the stomach.

"I'm Gatsby," she said. "And this is the Doctor."

"Bit young for a doctor." Scott looked at the pair skeptically. Indeed, they seemed more foreign by the second.

"Young!" I'm nine hundred and-humph." Gatsby had elbowed him harder this time. He really wasn't much of a people person, she surmised.

"Gatsby," Scott repeated, deciding he liked the girl better of the two, either because she appeared relatively sane or because she appeared more attractive the better he looked at her, mossy eyed and rosy cheecked. "That's an unusual name. I rather like the sound of it."

"Thank you," Gatsby said, just as the Doctor muttered, "Big surprise."

"So you'd like to borrow my sled?" Scott was always willing to perform favors for pretty girls and Gatsby's blinding smile was reward enough.

"Oh please," she chirped. Behind her the Doctor mocked the way she'd clapped her hands together.

"It's yours for as long as you desire." Scott passed the rope of his sled into her gloved hands and bowed. The Doctor pretended to gag at the chivalry of it all.

"Thank you so much," Gatsby gushed. She grabbed the Doctor's hand and pulled him away, while Scott contentedly returned to gazing longingly at Ginevra King. Perhaps she would slide down alone again.

Leaving the lovelorn fellow behind, Gatsby and the Doctor trudged along in silence until they were about half way up the rise. The Doctor's expression was cloudy now and she wasn't sure the cause.

"So you met him in the future?" Gatsby huffed, saving as much of her breath for the laborious hike. "Who is he?"

"One of the greatest authors of your kind," the Doctor explained. He reached over and too the rope from Gatsby's hands. "Authors write books. Books are stories written on paper. Understand?"

Gatsby was stung by his harsh tone. She didn't entirely understand and she felt incredibly stupid. They'd been told stories of a sort at school, but they'd all been lessons against doing something or other. She wanted to know more about these things called books, but the Doctor seemed too grumpy for questions. She asked one anyways.

"Have I done something wrong?"

"You insulted my manners," the Doctor grumbled. She didn't believe that was the cause of his sour mood.

"Well, you _were _being a bit rude."

The Doctor stopped all of a sudden and glared down at her. It was frightening to be looked at that way, especially by him.

"I can be whatever I choose to be. If I want to be a two headed Galapagos penguin, then I'll be a two headed Galapagos penguin."

"I…I…" Gatsby didn't know what to say. She didn't like this side of the Doctor at all and she still didn't know what she'd done to anger him. "I'm sorry," she murmured, staring at her feet.

The Doctor's gaze softened. He felt a surge of guilt at having been so short with her. After all, she hadn't done anything out of order. Even the Doctor wasn't entirely sure of why his temper had flared so unexpectedly.

"Don't apologize." He tipped up her chin. "You haven't done anything wrong. I'm just a grumpy, old cooter."

"S'alright," Gatsby said, forgiving him easily. They both shook off the tense moment and continued on. By the time they reached the crest of the hill the Doctor was in fine spirits again.

"After this," he said, "we'll go and meet the older Fitzgerald, after he's written _The Great Gatsby_. That was the original plan."

"_The Great Gatsby_?" she repeated. "Is that a book?"

"One of the best."

"But it's got my name in it!" Gatsby exclaimed. "I was named after one of these book things?"

"Or it was named after you." The Doctor grinned. "Time is a funny thing. Now are we going to sled or aren't we?"

The Doctor showed her the proper way to sit in the sled, with her legs tucked inside and her hands tightly gripping the curved front, then he crammed into the space behind her. Gatsby leaned against him and felt his two hearts beat. The hill seemed much steeper and much taller from the top.

"It's a family name, you know," she said, trying to ignore her fear. "Maybe my great-great-great grandmother read that book. Did they have books in the past?"

"Entire buildings of them, called libraries."

Before Gatsby could ask more about these buildings of books, the Doctor had propelled them forward. She clawed at his hands, hardly aware that she was screaming. They moved so quickly. In fact, she'd never moved with such speed in her life. The icy air cut across her face and she was certain she'd left her stomach somewhere behind them.

Behind her the Doctor released a loud "whoop". He wrapped his arms around Gatsby and gradually she felt safe. Well not exactly safe. That's not the proper word. She felt less afraid. More importantly she felt impossibly free. Her cries of terror faded into laughter as they spiraled faster and faster, with no control or planned path, downwards.

Then there was the crash. Gatsby flipped over the curved end of the sled and flew unhindered for the infinitesimal blink of an eye, before she landed in a flushed heap. She looked up to the pale sky, perfectly pleased to be nestled and breathless in the snow. _So this is the world_, she thought, _and here I am inside of it._ The Doctor's shadow fell across her. His hair was tossed about and somehow he'd lost his coat, but his eyes were the brightest she'd seen them yet.

"Again," Gatsby demanded. She leapt to her feet and sprinted up the hill. "Race you to the top," she called over her shoulder.

The Doctor lagged behind to watch her, content to lose the race. Gatsby stumbled, picked herself up, and kept going. That's what he admired so much about the human race. They always kept going.

It struck him how little he knew about Gatsby Goode and how little she knew about him. They were perfect strangers and for some reason she trusted him. They always trusted him, whether they should or not. It was a curse. He'd held out his hand to her and the Doctor knew that she would never let go now. He knew there would come a day, perhaps years from now and perhaps tomorrow, when he would leave her behind. He knew that every second they were together he life was at risk. Oh, this was the weight he carried and quite a heavy burden it was to know that his very existence was dangerous, and it was best that he spent his days alone, for Gatsby Goode didn't have the faintest idea what sort of trouble followed him; trouble that he couldn't escape no matter how many galaxies distance he ran.

Today seemed peaceful enough however. The Doctor reassured himself that nothing could possibly go wrong in Minnesota, the year 1915. Nothing out of the usual could happen. He should have known better, because something always happened, and that's when the snowmen attacked.

* * *

><p>The screaming started before Gatsby had reached the top of the hill. Startled, she lost her footing had fell face first into the snow. Something cold grazed her cheek as she slipped. Gatsby rolled onto her back, blinked the icy flakes from her eyes, and gazed horrified at the cause of the screams; the cause that was coming her way. <em>Surely that's not<em>…She closed her eyes and opened them again. Surely it was! There was no denying that an army of snowmen was, in fact, marching ever closer and they didn't look pleasant in any way.

Snowmen of all kinds; short and plump, twig-armed, coal-eyed, one with a particularly garish flower hat, tall, and crooked. They glided in a white gust of snow dust, firing icicles down upon the disarrayed sledding party.

Gatsby clambered to her feet and sprinted back the way she'd come with her arms shielding her head from the whizzing ice missiles. The Doctor, far below, was struggling to reach her, but he couldn't break through the bumbling and frenzied crowed of sled-goers. Then a wave of snow knocked him right off of his feet and he disappeared from sight.

Gatsby saw the Doctor's distant figure slip away, but she couldn't dwell long on her concern for his safety, not when the snow beneath her feet had begun to slide. She'd never seen an avalanche before, let alone been stranded in the midst of one, but she soon discovered that running was pointless now. She dropped onto her stomach and let the rolling snow carry her down. This time she didn't feel free. She clawed desperately for something to hold on to, while trying to keep her head above the waves. Certainly she would drown. Certainly this was the end. And where was the Doctor? Why hadn't he come to rescue her yet?

The hand that grasped the collar of her coat and dragged her onto a sled did not belong to the Doctor.

"Hold tight," Scott yelled over the roaring. "And keep low." He was doing his best to steer the careening sled and avoid the continued icicle raid; a near impossible task. Gatsby did as she was told. She kept her eyes closed until the sled struck ground and its two passengers were tossed into the air. Gatsby flapped her arms like broken bird wings, landed in a puff of snow, and lost her breath entirely. Before she'd found it again, Scott was pulling her to her feet and steering her away from the fast approaching snowmen.

Everything was chaos. All around people were screaming, running, and sinking. No one seemed to nowhere to go or what to do, but Gatsby didn't care for any of them. She dug her heels firmly in the snow and Scott's grip on her was lost. He spun around and reached for her again, but she stumbled away.

"The Doctor!" she cried. "I have to find him!"

"We have to go." Scott made another lunge, but Gatsby refused to go anywhere unless the Doctor was going with her. Then there was a shout from not far away. The first rank of snowmen had reached them. Scott and Gatsby both looked to the woman who had shouted. She was backing away from a steeping, one-armed snowman with half a button smile that looked like a leer.

"Ginevra!" Scott moaned. Without another glance at Gatsby, he was off again to rescue his love. This wasn't the opportunity he'd envisioned, but it would do well enough.

Alone once more, Gatsby turned her attention back to the Doctor. She had to find him. He was the only one who would know what to do. He was the only one who could help them. Help her.

"Doctor! DOCTOR!" she cried, frantically searching. She ran without direction, dodging people and snowmen alike, but there was no sign of the Doctor. Then she spotted it, a burgundy bow tie abandoned in the snow. Gatsby scooped it into her hands and stood still amidst all of the commotion; stood still in the very turning of the world. She clutched the bow tie tightly.

"Doctor," she whispered. "Where are you?"


	7. Six: Fish Fingers and Courage

**Disclaimer: **Hello, haven't updated this in awhile, but I'm on a break from school, so I decided to come back. Hope you enjoy.

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><p>"<em>Courage isn't a matter of not being frightened, you know. <em>

_It's being afraid and doing what you have to do anyway."_

The Doctor had tried to warn her. He'd told her that going along with him would be dangerous. He'd told her that she might just die, but Gatsby Goode hadn't really thought about that when she'd decided to take his hand and fly away in that strange, blue box. Now it was all she could think of as she stood alone amidst an army of living snowmen, clutching the Doctor's bow tie, the only part of him she had at the moment. He'd told her to trust him and she had. He'd saved her life three times since she'd met him, and Gatsby Goode didn't doubt that he would save it for a fourth, if only she could find him. If only…

"Eeeek!" Gatsby stopped short. She stared open mouthed at the ground, more importantly she stared at the face in the ground that she'd been seconds from stepping on. It wasn't just any face though. It was the most beautiful face in the world.

"Doctor!" Gatsby squealed. "What are you doing down there?"

"What are you doing up there?" the Doctor replied. Despite the danger around them, Gatsby couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity of her situation. She was talking to the Doctor's face while snowmen attacked. It was unbelievable. Then again, she was starting to understand that everything about the Doctor was absurd and unbelievable.

"Why are you laughing?" the Doctor demanded.

"You look ridiculous." Now that she'd found him, all her fears seemed silly. The Doctor was here and he would know what to do. There was nothing to worry about. The snowmen would be no match for her Doctor. Her Doctor? When had she started thinking of him as her own?

"A little help," the Doctor grumbled. Still chuckling, Gatsby began digging. Bit by bit the Doctor was revealed. Here was an arm, a knee cap, a foot. Until he was whole again. As soon as he was free, he clasped Gatsby's face between his hands. A frown creased his brow.

"You're hurt," he said, noting the thin scratch across her cheek. Gatsby hadn't even noticed. She shrugged and smiled.

"It's nothing. My first battle scar?" The Doctor wasn't amused. Something dark flashed in his eyes, but it was so quick that Gatsby didn't have the time to catch it. He let go of her and clambered to his feet. There were more important things to worry about than a scratch. He had to get Gatsby to safety.

"Come along then." The Doctor grabbed her hand and pulled her along in the direction of the Tardis. Pulled isn't the proper word. He dragged her along behind him. Gatsby found it difficult to keep up. Her legs kept getting tangled in the deep snow. More than once she nearly fell, but the Doctor was oblivious to her struggles. His only thought was to get her away from the snowmen. He didn't want her to acquire anymore battle scars.

"Gatsby!" Scott jogged to their side with an unfamiliar woman in his grasp. "Where are you going?"

"The Tardis," the Doctor answered, not caring that neither Scott nor his lady friend knew what the Tardis was. Scott grabbed the Doctor's arm and pulled him to a stop.

"Are you mad, Sir? You can't go that way. Look!" And they all did. At the bottom of the hill, where they'd left the Tardis, a row of snowmen was assembling. They'd never be able to get to the Tardis. Gatsby looked up at the Doctor, waiting for him to tell her what they would do next. Would he use his strange sonic screwdriver to fight their way through the snowmen? Would he convince the creatures to let them go in peace? Gatsby was prepared for him to do something insane, but what he actually did surprised her more than anything else could have. The Doctor turned to Scott and said, "We need somewhere safe to go."

"My house isn't far. Follow me." They turned away from the Tardis and the snowmen. They were running away. Gatsby couldn't believe it. The Doctor was actually running away.

"But the Tardis!" Gatsby cried, looking over her shoulder at the blue box surrounded by snowmen.

"Caesar's army couldn't get through those doors. Don't worry."

"But-"

"Gatsby Goode, shut up and run." She did as he told her, but she wasn't happy about it. She'd been sure that the Doctor would know what to do. Instead he was running like everyone else.

* * *

><p>Scott didn't care about the snowmen assault. He didn't care that the mad man who called himself the Doctor was pacing the room, muttering to himself and fiddling with some odd instrument that glowed green. He didn't care that he'd nearly died minutes ago. All of this seemed perfectly plausible. It was the fact that Ginevra King, the love of his life, was sitting in his parlor, beside his fire, and wearing his jacket that was most remarkable and unlikely. God bless these snow demons, whatever they were, for bringing her to him.<p>

"Can I get you anything?" Scott asked, hovering by Ginevra's chair. She was staring intently into the fire and didn't bother looking his way as she replied.

"A bit of space to breathe, thank you," she said stiffly. Ginevra King was marginally less thrilled by her situation than Scott. She'd been having a perfectly fine afternoon when those awful snowmen had decided to spoil her fun. There was a dance later that evening that she'd been looking forward to. Now it seemed she would be unable to attend and her disappointment had soured her mood greatly. Ginevra King always got what she wanted and this was certainly not it.

"You're a doctor, then?" Ginevra turned to the other man. He seemed a bit young to be a doctor. A bit too odd as well.

"Some days," he muttered distractedly.

"And you know what those things are?" The Doctor stopped his pacing to face the room. All three of them were looking at him expectantly. He met Gatsby's eyes briefly, before focusing on Ginevra.

"Not at all." Then he smiled. "Isn't that exciting?"

"Hardly," Ginevra sneered. She rose from her seat and strode to the door. "They seem to have cleared off though, so I think I'll be headed home."

"I don't think that's a good idea." Gatsby spoke for the first time since they'd reached Scott's home. She'd been busy watching the Doctor pace. She recognized his expression. It was his 'I don't have a plan, but if I mutter enough nonsense words one will just pop up in my head' expression. Gatsby wasn't sure whether she should feel relieved or terrified by that expression.

"And who are you?" Ginevra demanded. She didn't think very much of this strange doctor and the little girl he seemed to be travelling with. Who were they to tell her what to do? No one told her what to do!

"Ginevra, maybe you should listen to her. It's not safe out there," Scott coaxed, not wanting her to leave yet. Or ever. He reached for her arm, but let his hand fall at the look of pure disgust she gave him. Her disdain made him love her more. Oh, she was too good for him and she knew it as well as he did.

"Not safe," Ginevra chuckled. "You're all being ridiculous. Those things were probably just a prank of some of the boys." She was opening the door. "There's nothing to worry-AHHH!"

"GINEVRA!" Scott leapt forward and knocked Ginevra to the floor and out of the way of a darting icicle. Gatsby skittered closer to the Doctor, away from the nearly eight foot tall snowman sliding into the parlor. The creature had twig arms, broken off into sharp points, and a crooked coal smile. It was missing an eye, half of its carrot nose seemed to have been bitten off, and its flowered bonnet was horribly askew. For a moment, it stood in the doorway, watching them. The Doctor took a step forward.

"Hello," he said, holding his hands up. "We come in peace." The snowman's head turned so that its one eye was on the Doctor. "I can help you, if you just tell me what you need, but you have to leave these people alone. Now, tell me who you are."

The snowman raised one of its terrible arms. Gatsby held her breath, hoping for the best. She should have known it wouldn't be that easy.

"Doctor!" she screamed, as the snowman's arm dislodged from its body and soared straight for him. The Doctor ducked behind a couch, pulling Gatsby with him, and the arm struck the cushions. It pierced through the back of the couch and missed the Doctor's chin by less than an inch.

"Well, it's always worth a try," the Doctor said, grinning. "Stay down," he ordered. "And run when I give the signal."

"But what's-" The Doctor leapt to his feet and jumped over the couch. "the signal," Gatsby finished. She glanced over at Ginevra and Scott, who were cowering behind the armoire. Gatsby couldn't deny that she was somewhat satisfied at seeing Ginevra cower. Serves her right, Gatsby thought, now she'll know she isn't queen of the world.

Gatsby peeked around the couch to watch the Doctor. He was jumping across the furniture, barely dodging the icicles. He walked across the tea table, knocking the pot to the floor. Steaming tea splattered across the expensive furniture and splashed the snowman, causing bits of his left side to melt away. Gatsby understood what the Doctor was doing as he jumped onto the grand piano. He was trying to distract the snowman. He was leading it away from the door so that they could escape.

"Fish fingers!" the Doctor yelled, when he'd baited the snowman far enough away from the door. Gatsby assumed that was the signal for them to run. Scott was already leading Ginevra out. He beckoned for Gatsby to come with them, but she couldn't. She wasn't going to run again. She wasn't going to leave the Doctor. He'd saved her three times and she owed him. Even if he hadn't saved her once, she wouldn't have been able to leave him. Watching him leap across the furniture, shouting "fish fingers", Gatsby realized he was the strangest man she'd ever met, and also the most wonderful. She'd followed him blindly into this mad and dangerous world. He'd showed her things she never thought she'd see. He'd showed her the stars. She'd thought that the Doctor would always know what to do, but this time she was the one with the plan.

Remembering how the hot tea had melted parts of the snowman, Gatsby knew exactly what to do. She scurried across the room to the fireplace and jammed the iron poker into the flames as far as she could without burning herself. Then she closed her eyes and counted to ten. "FISH FINGERS! THAT MEANS RUN!" the Doctor screamed. She didn't listen this time. She was going to save his life and he couldn't make her do otherwise.

A strange emotion filled Gatsby. She felt as though she could conquer an army. She felt as though she would never run again. Had she been born in any other time than the 32nd British Empire, she would have known this feeling was called courage. With her newfound emotion, Gatsby charged the snowman and plunged the glowing hot poker into its middle. The snowman's top half spun around. It lashed out at her with its one remaining arm, but Gatsby stood her ground and pushed the poker in deeper, until the creature disappeared.

"I did it," Gatsby muttered. She let the poker clatter to the floor. There was only a puddle to prove that the snowman had ever existed. "I did it!"

"But it…How did…" Ginevra and Scott stood in the parlor doorway, gaping at Gatsby and the puddle. The Doctor jumped down from the grand piano, striking an A minor chord on the descent, and sprinted the few steps to Gatsby. He was positively beaming.

"You did it!" he cheered, sweeping Gatsby off of her feet and twirling her around. "You mad, impossible girl." He set her down, suddenly serious. "What part of fish fingers didn't you understand?" he demanded.

"I just saved your life." Gatsby wasn't about to apologize. "And fish don't have fingers." The Doctor stared at her and she stared back. She looked right into those eyes that had seen too many impossible things without flinching.

"I had everything under control," the Doctor said.

"No you didn't."

"Did too."

"Did not."

"Would someone tell us what the bloody hell is going on?" Ginevra stamped her foot, irritated at having been forgotten.

"Well, it's an alien," Gatsby answered confidently, and then turned back to the Doctor. "It is alien, isn't it?"

"Definitely," the Doctor said with a grin. He crouched down and began prodding at the puddle with his sonic screwdriver.

"Alien?" Scott said, stepping closer to them. He couldn't take his eyes off of the puddle. For once his attention wasn't on Ginevra King. "Do you mean to say these things are foreigners?"

"Very foreign," the Doctor muttered. "But where are they from? Come on now, tell me where…ah ha!" The sonic screwdriver was off the blink.

"What is it?" Gatsby crouched beside him.

"This is mad!" Ginevra cried from the doorway. "You're all mad! This is just a prank."

"How could it be a prank, Ginny? You saw that thing melt." Scott reached out to her, but Ginevra backed away. Her eyes moved from the Doctor and his friend, to the puddle on the floor, and finally to Scott.

"Of course it melted! It was a snowman."

"Wrong. Absolutely wrong!" The Doctor jumped up, smiling from ear to ear. The other three, even Ginevra, looked at him, waiting. When the Doctor didn't speak, Scott broke the silence.

"Well then, what is it?"

"A Haumean!" They all looked at him blankly.

"A what?" Scott said. The Doctor was rocking back and forth, radiating excitement.

"Did I stutter? It's a Haumean. An ice creature from the planet Haumea. Not very original with their names. Actually, they're not very intelligent beings at all. So how did they get here?" The Doctor paused. He stared out the window at the thickly falling snowing, and then slapped himself in the face. "Of course! How did I not see that?" He rounded on Scott and Ginevra. "You've gotten an unusual amount of snow this year, haven't you?"

"I suppose so," Scott replied. "But what's that got to do with anything?" The Doctor hurried to the window and pushed it open. An icy draft of air struck them, but the Doctor didn't seem to notice the cold. His mind was racing now, piecing it all together. He'd been so stupid. So very stupid. There shouldn't have been this much snow, not even in Minnesota.

The Doctor scooped up a handful of snow from the windowsill and ran another scan with his sonic screwdriver. Then he spun on his heels.

"You've had an unusual amount of snow, except it isn't snow!"

"Of course it is," Ginevra argued.

"Of course it's not." The Doctor balled up the snow in his hands and tossed it at Gatsby. She stepped to the left just in time.

"Doctor, what is it then?" she demanded, losing her patience.

"Babies."

"Babies?" Scott and Gatsby repeated skeptically.

"A trillion Haumean babies! They're populating the planet. But why? Why would they…unless…"

"Doctor!" Gatsby grabbed his hand, bringing his attention back to the three very confused and somewhat frightened people in the parlor with him. "Doctor," she repeated softly, her eyes as round as the moon. "Should I be worried? These things, the Howmens-"

"Haumeans."

"Whatever. Are they dangerous? Why do they want to kill us? What do we do, Doctor?"

"I need to get to the Tardis." The Doctor shook free of Gatsby's hold and turned to Scott. "Mr. Fitzgerald, the fate of the world depends on your answer my next question."

"Go ahead then." Scott had gone as white as a ghost. The events of the day were catching up to him. How had everything gone so insane? When he'd woken up that morning, he'd only wanted to speak to Ginevra King, and now it seemed the fate of the world rested on his shoulders.

"Can you take me back to where we were earlier?" the Doctor asked.

Scott thought about what was outside, those horrid snowmen. He was safe in his home. Why would he ever leave? Scott had never been a brave man. He wrote stories, not very good ones either. He'd never been a hero. He'd never wanted to be. Besides he hated the cold, and he surely didn't want to die. Then he felt a warmth on his arm. Scott looked down to see Ginevra's hand on his sleeve. His skin burned from the touch. His heart burned from the light of her gentle smile. Ginevra King was actually smiling at him! Oh, she was an angel, and an angel who had noticed him at last. Scott knew then that he would have to be a brave man. He would be a hero for his love.

"I'll take you," Scott agreed.

"Good man! Now Gatsby, I have a very important job for you."

"Anything." The Doctor took both of her hands into his. She held her breath. What would he ask her to do? How dangerous would it be?

"Stay here. Don't follow me."

"What?" Gatsby jerked away from him. "You can't leave me behind!"

"Actually, I can."

Gatsby watched him stride to the door with Scott. She was more than a little bit stung. She'd saved his life and now he was going to run along without her.

"Doctor!" Gatsby regained control of her body just as the Doctor shut the parlor door. She ran across the room and pulled at the handle. It was locked. He'd locked her in. "Doctor!" she howled, pounding at the door.

"You'll be safe here, Gatsby Goode. Don't worry." The Doctor's voice was faint on the other side of the thick, oak door. She heard footsteps growing further and further away, until they faded into nothing. Gatsby kicked the door one last time.

Don't worry! What a foolish thing to ask of her. Gatsby sunk to the floor and buried her face into her arms. She understood now that the Doctor didn't always know what to do. She understood that he wasn't invincible, and the thought of her Doctor out there with an army of alien snowmen…Well, of course she would worry.


	8. Seven: A Polite Abduction

Oh shit. Cliff hanger. Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

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><p><em>"Anybody remotely interesting is mad, in some way or another."<em>

The universe is big and no one knows where it came from, though there are countless theories. The Rexicons of Galphbotria believe the universe is a garden tended by their cheery gods, Maxiltha and Rexitha. At the end of every year they hold a large festival to celebrate the god's weeding of time. Another year is given to the compost heap of history. The Monks of Balthos preach that the universe is just an idea and time a mere passing thought. In the 32nd British Empire, it is believed that the universe is an abstract concept created by the ancients to make them feel less alone. Now knowing that the universe existed, and knowing that it is big, Gatsby Goode felt more alone than ever before.

Don't worry. Don't worry! She was out of her mind with worry. The Doctor had been gone for ages. Well, he'd been gone for approximately seventeen minutes and thirty two seconds, but to Gatsby, who had very little concept of what eternity actually felt like, it felt like eternity. And it wasn't just the worrying. Oh no. Gatsby was overcome with maddening uselessness. It was an ailment that she'd suffered from since birth. She'd spent her entire life waiting and it was only now that she knew what she'd been waiting for, or that she'd been waiting at all. She'd been born useless, suffered an ineffective adolescence and all in preparation for an unavailing, purposeless life.

Most people never know they're waiting, because most people never find what they're waiting for, and they're lucky. They don't realize the futility of their existence, but as Gatsby Goode paced the finely furnished parlor, she was all too aware. She'd waited a year and six minutes for the crazy man with the bow tie to return. It was longer than that though. He'd been much later than either of them anticipated, because she'd been waiting for the Doctor for her entire life. She'd been waiting for a big life. A life is big and no one knows where it comes from, though Gatsby had a single theory. The Doctor. Her life began with the Doctor and she could no longer accept the uselessness of her existence. She had to do something.

But what? The door was locked and stubbornly refusing to be anything otherwise. The door was locked, Gatsby thought as she paced, and there's no way out. There's no way out. But she'd seen the stars! Wasn't that supposed to be impossible? Wasn't a time and space travelling alien supposed to be impossible? Surely escaping from a locked room was possible! She'd melted a snowman from outer space, and yet a slab of wood was an insurmountable challenge!

"Sit down," Ginevra snapped. "You're giving me a headache with all of that pacing." Gatsby had almost forgotten that she wasn't alone. She spun around to face the woman sitting by the fireplace. Ginevra appeared calm; the irritating, not a hair out of place type of calm.

"Aren't you worried?" Gatsby asked.

"Should I be?" She had a cool, unaffected voice that reminded Gatsby of her mother. It was a voice that said nothing, but hinted that in another station of society it might have a great deal to say.

"Your friend's out there with those…those-"

"Aliens?" Ginevra chuckled. "Oh please, you can't honestly believe that those snowmen are from outer space." She rolled her eyes, a practiced and graceful gesture. Gatsby wanted to hit the girl. It was a desire that she'd never experienced before. "Besides," Ginevra continued, smoothing out the wrinkles in her skirts, "Mr. Fitzgerald is hardly a friend of mine."

"He saved your life."

"Would you have me marry him then?" Ginevra issued a sound bordering on crude, something of a refined snort. She brought her hand to her forehead and mocked a swoon. "Ought I to be a proper damsel in distress? And Mr. Fitzgerald my knight? Don't be so medieval."

Gatsby cocked her head to the side, confused. She didn't understand what a damsel or knight had to do with anything. In fact, she wasn't sure she grasped the image at all.

"Fitzgerald, ha, as my very own Lancelot. What a preposterous notion!"

"Who's Lancelot?"

"Sir Lancelot, legendary knight of the round table." Gatsby's expression remained blank. "Honestly, where are you and that mad doctor from?"

"I'm from Britain and the Doctor's, well, I'm not entirely sure." Ginevra perked up a bit. Her cloak of disdain slipped in a new fervor of interest. She grinned, slipping into the mischievous schoolgirl that she'd once been, before all of the mannerisms.

"You've run away with him, haven't you?" Ginevra accused in a hushed whisper. She wasn't as blind or as stupid as everyone thought her to be, and she certainly noticed Gatsby's affirmation in the blush that bloomed in the girl's cheeks.

"That's positively romantic!" Ginevra squealed. "I suppose he's handsome in an unusual, slightly neurotic way, and mysterious to be sure. Oh, what a scandal! Did your parents disapprove?"

"They don't know," Gatsby admitted. She hadn't thought about her parents very much. What must they think? They would definitely have disapproved. Ginevra was correct, it was a scandal.

"And the two of you have come here, why?"

"We're just travelling."

"Seeing the world together," Ginevra sighed.

"The universe," Gatsby amended, grinning despite herself.

"Does he intend to marry you?"

"Marry me?" The thought stunned Gatsby. Marry the Doctor? She hardly knew him. Their union wouldn't be beneficial to her family's social standing. "Why would I marry him?"

"Because you love him of course!"

"Love him!" she shrieked. "No, I don't…I don't love him. We don't…we're just travelling."

"Oh." The flame in Ginevra's eyes burned out. She reassumed her composure. "I just assumed, well, it would make a phenomenal romance if…silliness really." She turned her back on Gatsby and peered into the fire, silently berating herself for getting so carried away. She couldn't help herself. Ginevra King was a flirt, but she followed the rules of propriety. She always had, though tucked deep in her heart of good breeding and expectations, she dreamed of true romance. What she wouldn't give to have the same freedom that this strange girl seemed to have, to run away with a handsome mad man.

Gatsby felt a bit ill. Her stomach churned in an odd manner at the thought of marrying the Doctor or being in love with him. She didn't know a thing about love, after all, and there were more important matters at hand. She still had to find a way out of this parlor. Pacing again, she considered how much force it would take to break down the door, and if she'd even be strong enough for such a thing. Ginevra watched her, the headache returning, and finally lost her patience.

"If you want to follow him so terribly, why don't you just go out through the window?"

The window! Of course, the window! It was so obvious. Gatsby hurried across the room, threw open the window and peered down. It wasn't much of a drop and the snow would soften her fall. She pulled herself up onto the ledge and swung her legs over, prepared to jump, when Ginevra caught hold of her arm.

"It was a joke! You can't jump out of the window. Besides, what about those snow men things?"

"I thought you weren't worried?"

"I'm not," Ginevra lied, unconvincingly. "But perhaps it'd be best, just in case, if we waited for them here." Gatsby shook her arm free.

"You can do what you want. I've waited on the Doctor for long enough and I won't wait a second more." Ginevra had never met a girl like this one, so headstrong and, frankly, wild. All together exciting. Strange. She looked back to the welcoming fireplace, the safety of a nondescript life, and then at the girl on the window ledge, ready to fall into a dangerous world for a man that she hardly knew. Despite the girl's objections, Ginevra couldn't see any other explanation than love.

With a disgruntled huff, Ginevra clutched her skirts in one hand and used a footstool to propel herself onto the windowsill as well. No one left Ginevra King behind.

"If I'm killed by a snowman…oh, I can't even finish that sentence. It's too ridiculous."

Gatsby laughed. She wrapped her arm through Ginevra's and together the two women jumped.

* * *

><p>Scott hadn't thought that this day could get any weirder. He'd been terribly wrong. He'd followed the Doctor into the blue box and immediately stepped back out. The box was small, a tight squeeze for two grown men, except it wasn't a tight squeeze at all. At least not on the inside. No, on the inside it was big. Too big. Impossibly big.<p>

"Bigger on the inside," Scott mumbled, dumb struck. He rapped his knuckles against the blue wood. It was solid enough, not a trick of the imagination. Perhaps the cold had affected his mind. Perhaps he was going mad. Or this was a very clever delusion. He circled the box. He prodded and poked the box. He stared at the box in absolute wonder, before hesitantly reentering. He blinked. He gaped. He threw his hands up in absolute defeat.

"It's alien," Scott declared. There could be no other explanation. "Those snowmen are really alien." There weren't any other likely explanations. "You're alien." It was the only explanation.

"Am I that obvious? What gave it away, the bow tie?" The Doctor peered around the screen he'd drawn in front of his face to look at Scott, who'd collapsed against the wall.

"And your friend? Is she alien too?"

"Completely human. From the year 2211."

"The year…the future. An alien, a box that's bigger on the inside, a girl from the future and murderous snowmen. What a day this has turned out to be." Scott massaged his temples, trying to alleviate the headache that afflicted most people when in the Doctor's presence.

"So you abducted her?"

"What?" The Doctor, who'd been madly punching buttons on some sort of keyboard, paused.

"Isn't that what aliens do?"

"I didn't…I certainly…abduct…" the Doctor flummoxed. "She wanted to come!"

"Of course she did."

"She did!"

"I'm sure. What woman wouldn't be swept off her feet by a time travelling alien? Dear God, an alien! You're an honest to goodness alien!" Scott felt nauseated. Everything he'd believed in, everything he'd thought to be true, was being turned upside down and inside out. He'd woken up that morning, had his usual coffee with cream and no sugar, read the paper and had no higher aspiration than to exchange greetings with Ginevra King. Yet here he was in a spaceship!

"Are you going to abduct me?"

"You're not my type." The Doctor was intent on his screen again.

"I think I'm going to be sick."

"Not on the vortex defibrillator!" The Doctor left his post at the console and dragged Scott away from the ticking contraption. "It's a lot to take in, yada yada, but your planet is going to be a frozen tundra in less than two hours. Do you know what that means? Every human will freeze. Everyone you've ever cared about, including yourself, will be dead. Now I might be able to stop that from happening, but what I need you to do is shut up and keep your breakfast where it belongs, which is not on my vortex defibrillator. Understand?"

Scott didn't understand. His mind was swimming, but the danger of their situation was clear enough, so he nodded. The Doctor returned to his work and Scott peered over his shoulder. There was a jumble of indecipherable words and letters on the screen.

"You can understand that?" Scott asked.

"Of course, I'm the Doctor. I understand everything. Well, not hot dogs. I mean, what are they? Does anyone really know? They're not dogs at all, but for some reason…oh. OH!" The Doctor leapt into the air and turned to Scott with an expression of pure triumph. Scott, however, was just as dumb struck as he'd been before.

"What? What's happened?"

"There was an explosion, a BANG-" Scott jumped back a few steps in surprise. "It shattered Haumea's ice mantle. That's why the Haumeans are populating Earth! Their planet's uninhabitable. They need somewhere else to live!"

"They can't have Earth!" Scott protested. "It's ours."

"Hasn't always been." Before Scott could ask what the Doctor meant by that, the mad man was frantically typing again. The numbers and letters on the screen reassembled into a line of spheres. No, not spheres. They were planets with words beside them. Not words. They were names. Names of planets that Scott had never heard of and certainly couldn't pronounce.

"Too warm, too warm, too dry, too crowded, too absurd," the Doctor muttered, scanning the planets.

"Doctor, what are we going to do? How do we get rid of those things?"

"Too prickly, too particular, to fascist."

"Doctor!"

"PERFECT!" The Doctor spun around, grinning. "Namaka!"

"Pardon?"

"Namaka, it's a moon. A very cold moon and part of Haumea's collisional family."

"A collisional what?" Scott was a very bright man, but he felt incredibly stupid when in the company of this "doctor". It was an effect the Doctor had on many people.

"A group of astronomical objects with similar physical and orbital characteristics that form when a large progenitor is shattered," the Doctor explained. Scott's confusion didn't lift. "Oh, think of it like Haumea's cousin. Both planets share the same genes."

"That's an interesting bit of trivia, Doctor, but don't you think we should be doing something about the KILLER SNOWMEN CURRENTLY OVERTHROWING MY PLANET!" Scott had lost all patience. The world as he knew it was, apparently, ending. There was an alien invasion in progress just outside. He'd risked his life to bring the Doctor to this damned blue box in hopes that they might find a way to destroy the snowmen, save Earth and, last but never least, impress Ginevra King and win her love. Scott didn't care about collisional families, but the Doctor was still grinning. The Doctor hadn't even blinked at his outburst. The Doctor had a plan.

"Namaka," the Doctor continued, "will make the perfect new home for the Haumeans. Of course, they might have to rename themselves the Namakeans."

"That's great. It's just dandy, but they're not on Namaka, so I don't see how any of this…oh." The Doctor's grin widened as Scott's began to form. The Doctor's plan suddenly dawned on him. Actually it dropped down on him like an anvil.

"You're going to take them to Namaka," Scott announced.

"Precisely!"

"But how?" The Doctor patted the console of the Tardis. "Oh right, in your spaceship of course." There was still one problem that Scott couldn't see a solution to. "How are you going to make them go with you."

"I'm going to say please," the Doctor said, striding to the door. "It works every time." He stopped and glanced back over his shoulder at Scott. "Well, nearly every time." Then the Doctor slipped out of the strange blue box, back into the storm.

"Nearly!" Scott cried, chasing after him. "Nearly," he repeated. It seemed the fate of mankind rested in the hands of a mad man, a mad alien, not for the first nor the last time. Scott feared the worst. He didn't think that a polite request would be all that it would take. However, he followed the Doctor, feeling a bit like he'd been abducted himself.

* * *

><p>"Do you even know where you're going?" Ginevra whined. It was cold. More than cold. The temperature had dropped at least ten degrees and the snow was falling heavier than ever. The two women kept a firm hold on each other, not out of some feminine bond, but to keep from losing one another in the blizzard. Gatsby barely heard her companion over the roaring winds. Their words were swallowed whole by the storm.<p>

Without replying, Gatsby dragged Ginevra forward, their heads bowed against the gale. She didn't, in fact, know where she was going. It felt like the right direction. She hoped it was the right direction. Nothing looked familiar. She couldn't have seen the familiar even if it was there, but there was a blind pull that directed her steps, as though she could feel the Doctor. Why did it always seem she was searching for him? When she found him this time she intended to chain him to her side and never let him from her sight again. Assuming she ever found him. Assuming she didn't simply kill him for leaving her behind.

Gatsby was drawn from her thoughts of a bloody murder when Ginevra stopped.

"I don't think it's much further. We just have to keep going," Gatsby snapped, losing her patience and tugging at Ginevra's arm. The woman wouldn't budge. Gatsby turned, prepared to suggest that Ginevra just go back to the house. The words didn't make it past her lips. Ginevra's face was curled into an expression of absolute horror, and for good reason. At first Gatsby thought the cloud of snow moving towards them was an avalanche. The truth was worse. Twenty or more snowmen were gliding towards them. Mere feet away.

"RUN!" Gatsby screamed, yanking her companion's arm. She didn't look back. Ginevra stumbled and Gatsby dragged the woman on. "Come on," she cried. "We have to keep going!"

"GO WHERE?" Gatsby didn't know. She only knew that the snowmen were gaining on them. The wind around them was picking up. They had to hide. But where? Where could they go? Everything was ice and snow. Everything except a light in the distance. The most beautiful light Gatsby had ever seen. Even more beautiful than the stars.

"It's the Tardis!" Gatsby would have known that light anywhere, no matter how dim. She ran faster. She almost flew, and then she and Ginevra were sliding across the ground. They'd run right onto a long stretch of ice.

"The lake," Ginevra cried. "It's frozen." Gatsby was already on her feet and ready to run, but Ginevra caught her hand. "We can't! The ice might not hold."

"We don't have a choice." The snowmen were closer than ever. Their options were numbered. Ginevra weighed her choice; be slaughtered by snowmen or drown. An ice missile whizzed past her left ear. Ginevra leapt to her feet. She'd take drowning any day.

The women half ran, half slid over the frozen lake. Gatsby's eyes never left the light of the Tardis. They were so close. They were going to make it. They were half way across the lake, when a terrible sound stopped them yet again. Gatsby looked down. A thin crack zig zagged between her feet.

"Ouick!" Ginevra didn't need to be told twice. They could outrun snowmen, but nature was a different matter. The ice broke as soon as their feet hit the surface. Then with a thunderous roar, the small crack became a gaping hole. Gatsby's foot sunk. Without thinking, acting on a buried instinct, she shoved Ginevra as hard as she could, away from the hole.

"Keep going," Gatsby screamed, as her body slipped into the freezing water. She clawed at the edge as it crumbled beneath her fingers. "Follow the light. Find-" And then Ginevra's terrified face was gone, replaced by cold darkness.

The Doctor, Gatsby finished in her thoughts. Find the Doctor.


	9. Eight: The Unforgivable Mistake of Dying

**Disclaimer: **So on and so forth, I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note: **Oh dear. Angsty Doctor. Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>"If you could touch the alien sand and hear the cry of strange birds and watch them wheel in another sky, would that satisfy you?"<em>

Ginevra King had never cared about anything but herself. After all, she was a debutante. She had charm, grace and beauty. She made men weep and women rage. She had the sort of power that only the exceptionally beautiful possessed, and it was a power that was of little help now. She was running for her life and a charming smile wouldn't save her from the creatures; the aliens, if she believed what the mad man and his companion had called them, which of course she didn't believe. Or did she? Ginevra had doubts, but it didn't matter what she believed or didn't believe at the moment. Find the Doctor, the strange girl had said, the girl who might be dead already. Find the mad man. Ginevra wasn't sure what good this man was, but there didn't seem to be anyone else to save them.

Ginevra could hardly breathe. She clutched her aching sides and ran harder towards the light. She cursed her corset for being laced so tightly. If she'd known how the day would progress, she would have done without the damned thing, but at least she would die with a perfect figure. Die? Die! She was hardly a woman. She wasn't even married yet! She couldn't possibly die. She was supposed to marry a wealthy man and…and…well, she'd never planned anything else for her life. It all seemed so silly to her now that time was scarce. She envied the strange girl more than ever, for having the courage to run off with a man. It was a courage that Ginevra didn't have, but she promised herself, in the way that humans often make promises when death is near, that if she survived this she'd give herself more of a future. She'd take risks. She'd fall in love. She'd throw all propriety to the wind and watch it scatter. If she survived.

Survival, however, did not seem likely, given the horrid creature in her path. Ginevra slid to a halt. She couldn't even scream. Looming between her and the light in the distance, stood the tallest snowman she'd seen yet. To be politically correct, it was a snowlady, perhaps even a snowduchess. Ten feet or so in height, perfectly proportionate, and wearing a rather ridiculous feathered bonnet that fell low over two cold and coal black eyes. Ginevra was tired of running. She couldn't have passed the creature even had she felt moved to try. Horrified, she watched as the majestic, for despite her fear she couldn't deny the thing had a strange sort of dignity, snowlady raised one of its arms. So this was the end? Some claim to see their lives flash before their eyes in the presence of death. Ginevra King hardly had the time to blink. She only saw how ludicrous her situation was, but she certainly didn't see her life or Scott inching towards the snowlady from behind. At least not until, wielding a branch like a sword, he decapitated the creature with one swift chop. Finally Ginevra screamed, as the snowlady's head flew towards her. She ducked to the side, just missing the head as it rolled away into the storm.

"Ginevra!" Scott cried, racing to her. "Are you alright?" Perhaps it was the promise she'd just made to herself to fall in love, or the heat of having barely escaped death, or that Scott looked particularly dashing still wielding the branch. Whatever the cause, Ginevra grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and kissed him. She kissed him without thinking. She kissed him recklessly. She kissed him as she'd never kissed a man before. It was by no means proper, but she didn't care.

"Thank you," she murmured.

"An…any time," Scott stuttered, a goofy grin splashed across his lips. Suddenly the day's events seemed worthwhile to him. Aliens and spaceships were erased from his thoughts. There are kisses that make even time and space seem small. Though the Doctor had never experienced one, in all of his ventures, so he felt no guilt in destroying the young couple's moment. Clearing his throat to make his presence known, he snatched up the snowlady's feathered bonnet and plopped it on his own head.

"How do I look?" he asked. Scott and Ginevra leapt apart, young lovers caught in an act of impropriety, and gaped at the mad man. "You're right," the Doctor said, taking their stunned looks as a disapproval of the hat. "It's not my color." He shrugged and turned his attention to Ginevra, not surprised at all to find that she'd followed them. Humans, he'd learned, have an uncanny knack of not staying where they're told to stay. He should have known that Gatsby would find a way to chase after him. Of course Gatsby wouldn't stay behind. He wasn't a bit shocked to find that Gatsby…Gatsby…And it registered that something was wrong, because Gatsby wasn't there at all.

"Where is she?" the Doctor demanded. Ginevra, having momentarily forgotten the reason for her flight, grabbed Scott's hand. Oh, the girl! The poor girl! Surely it was too late?

"She insisted we follow you. I didn't want to, but she was pacing and worried. She jumped right out of the window. It was my idea, but I swear it was a joke. I didn't think she'd actually-"

"Where is she?" the Doctor snapped. Ginevra took a step back, frightened. She couldn't bring herself to look at the Doctor as she answered.

"We were ambushed by those things. We tried to run across the lake, but…but it cracked. She pushed me to safety, but she…"

The Doctor didn't wait for her to finish. He was already sprinting to the lake. The feathers of his bonnet danced behind him in the raging gale. Snippets of thought rushed through his mind. He was used to having the entire universe packed to bursting inside of his brain. He was used to the feeling of falling through space at impossible speeds. There was only one thing the Doctor had never grown accustomed to; losing someone. As he ran, faster than he'd ever run before, the Doctor saw their shining, beautiful faces from the moment he'd first met them, when they'd still been young and clueless. He saw little Amelia Pond in her night gown making fish fingers. He saw Martha Jones at the hospital, training to become a doctor, with still so much to learn. He saw Donna Noble in her wedding dress, screaming at him, as she was prone to do, to take her back to the chapel immediately. Oh, and he saw Rose, magnificent Rose. Each and every one of them as they'd been before he'd dropped into their times and abducted them from the normal lives they should have lived, their safe and blissfully ignorant lives.

The Doctor saw Gatsby Goode on her death bed, bored and unafraid. The truly good Gatsby Goode from the 32nd British Empire. She'd trusted him. They always trusted him, yet he made the same mistake time and time again. In 910 years he still hadn't learned! He was selfish and lonely. He stumbled in on them, charmed them and stole them. None of them quite understood the risks until it was too late, but he did. He always did, but he couldn't stop himself from taking them. He needed a companion, and no matter how many times he tried to delude himself into thinking that it was ultimately their choice to make, he knew deep down that it was his. If he asked, they would come. He always asked and they followed. Stupid humans, they followed.

The Doctor skidded onto the ice. He slid to the hole where Gatsby had fallen through. It was his turn to follow, follow Gatsby Goode into the cold, dark and hopeless lake. It's not too late, he told himself, as he slipped into the water. The pain was consuming. It felt as though each nerve in his body was being shredded by the cold. The Doctor ground his teeth together and pushed himself further into the shadows. He reached out his hands, searching blind, desperate. I won't lose her, he yelled silently. Their faces rose in the gloom; Rose, Martha, Donna, Amy, Gatsby.

Gatsby! The Doctor wrapped his arm around her waist. She was limp, lifeless. Her hair trailed behind them as he kicked to the surface, struggling to lift her dead weight. He clawed at the water. He fought through the depths, towards the small patch of light ahead, and when he feared he couldn't push himself any further, he heard Gatsby's voice in his mind.

_"Will it be dangerous?" she asked._

_"Extremely."_

_"I might die, right?"_

_"It's a definite possibility."_

But it wasn't a possibility. It couldn't be a possibility! He wouldn't allow it! The Doctor kicked harder. He kicked and kicked until at last his head broke the surface of the water. The frosty air cut into his lungs. Scott was waiting at the edge of the hole. He pulled Gatsby out of the water, before aiding the Doctor. Ginevra stood a few feet back, afraid to confront the truth she knew was inevitable. The poor girl. Ginevra clapped a hand over her mouth to catch a sob. The girl was dead. Scott stepped back to give the Doctor space, and let Ginevra bury her face against him. It was all so terrible, so tragic.

Yet the Doctor didn't grieve. He hadn't given up. He would never give up. Gatsby was as white as the ice she was sprawled across. Her lips were frozen shut. The Doctor pried them apart. He pressed his mouth to hers and breathed into her frozen body. He beat at her chest to jump start her heart. For two minutes. Three minutes. Endless minutes.

"Come on, Gatsby Goode," the Doctor whispered. "Don't give up." She remained frozen. Frozen in time. She was far away, in a place that not even he had travelled yet. He breathed into her again. Nothing. Again. Nothing.

"We saw the stars." His own words seemed to choke him. Perhaps it was the promise he'd just made to himself to save her, or the chill of losing to death, or that Gatsby looked particularly lovely and sad with icicles in her hair. Whatever the cause, the Doctor kissed her. He kissed her chastely. He kissed her regretfully. He kissed her as a means of apology, and as though forgiving him, Gatsby Goode opened her eyes and took in a great, shuddering breath.

Yes, there are kisses that make even time and space seem small. As he pulled the undeniably alive Gatsby Goode into his arms, the Doctor realized he'd just experienced one of them.

* * *

><p>Gatsby Goode was miffed that she'd been unconscious during her first kiss. Actually she'd been dead. She was curled up by the fire, brooding, when Ginevra brought her a cup of tea. The men were somewhere else, finding the Doctor a set of dry clothes. The Doctor. He'd kissed her, according to Ginevra, he'd brought her back from death and now he wasn't speaking to her. Apparently dying was inexcusable.<p>

"What was it like?" Ginevra asked. She didn't want to be inconsiderate, after all the girl had gone through a dreadful drowning ordeal, but she couldn't resist asking.

"What was what like?"

"Dying, of course!"

"Oh that." It wasn't Gatsby's chief concern at the moment. In fact, she hadn't given it much thought. She was more concerned by the Doctor's lack of eye contact.

"Oh that," Ginevra mimicked. "Yes that! It isn't every day that you die."

"I don't know. It wasn't very interesting." Gatsby picked up the cup of tea, but didn't take a sip. She just wanted the warm steam to hit her face. She was still cold. "I don't remember anything."

"Did you see the light?" Ginevra pried.

"The light?"

"You know, people always say there's a light."

"I didn't see anything." It had been exceptionally dark in the lake. Gatsby hadn't been afraid, just like she hadn't been afraid all those years ago when she'd been dying. There hadn't been time for fear. Besides, she'd known the Doctor would come for her. He wasn't the most punctual, but he always showed up.

"It was a bit boring," Gatsby admitted. "He's angry with me, isn't he? I've done something wrong." Ginevra laughed, though Gatsby didn't see what was so amusing.

"Oh, don't bother with him. Men are always angry and women are always doing something wrong. It's the way of things." Gatsby wasn't relieved. She picked at a loose thread in the afghan wrapped around her shoulders. In a display of affection most uncharacteristic, Ginevra took the younger girl's hand and gave it a hardy squeeze. "He was frightened," she said softly. "Your mad Doctor, alien or whatever else he might be, isn't so different from most men. When they're frightened, they get angry. When they care about someone, they're even angrier. They feel like the weight of the world is on their shoulders."

"And women?" Gatsby muttered. "How are we supposed to feel?"

"That's easy. We really do bear the weight of the world. Men just think they do." Gatsby wasn't sure if the woman was correct, but she gave a weak smile anyways and finally took a sip of the tea, but nearly spat it back out as the Doctor, looking strange without his bow tie, and Scott barged into the parlor. He didn't bother looking at Gatsby as he hurried to the window.

"What's going on?" Ginevra asked, helping Gatsby to her feet.

"They've surrounded the house," Scott explained. "and he wants to ask them politely to leave our planet." The Doctor was standing on the window ledge. Gatsby edged as close to him as she dared. She could see a sliver of the outside world beneath his elbow. Sure enough they were surrounded. They were trapped, but as usual, the Doctor appeared unconcerned.

"Haumeans!" he called out, his voice rising above the storm. Unseen by anyone else, Ginevra reached for Scott's hand, nervous and hopeful. "This planet is already populated. I'm sorry, but there's no place for you here." As though the Haumeans were replying, a gust of wind nearly knocked the Doctor from his perch. He held onto the window frame and Gatsby moved closer, prepared to steady him if need be.

"Wait," the Doctor shouted against the gale. "I have a proposition!" The wind softened. They were curious. "There is a moon, Namaka, a lovely and wintery place, prime real estate. I can take you there. You can make a new home." The wind ceased completely. Everyone in the parlor held their breath, waiting for the Haumeans reply. The snowfall seemed to lighten, before stopping completely, and the Doctor grinned. It would seem a deal had been made. The snowmen and women began to retreat.

"Where are they going?" Scott asked, as the Doctor leapt down.

"To the Tardis. I'll have to be quick. They'll melt if I don't get them to Namaka soon. Imagine that mess! It'd take years to mop up. Now I can chill the Tardis, but that will only give me an extra few minutes." He was rambling. He was moving to the door. Automatically, Gatsby followed him.

"Scott," the Doctor said, turning around, "Be a good lad and keep an eye on Miss Goode."

"Certainly," Scott agreed.

"Certainly not!" Gatsby grabbed the door just before it could be shut and locked again. She wouldn't have that this time! "May I have a word with you?"

"Now really isn't the time. I'm on a bit of a schedule." Gatsby wouldn't budge. "Oh, alright." Together they stepped into the empty hallway, shutting the door on Ginevra and Scott.

"I want to go with you," Gatsby said in a rush.

"Well, we don't always get what we want. Now if that's all, I should be-" Gatsby grabbed his sleeve to stop him from turning away from her.

"Would you look at me?" she demanded. For the first time since bringing her back to life, the Doctor met her eyes and Gatsby let go of his sleeve, stung by the hostility in his gaze. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I shouldn't have followed you. It was foolish, but I was worried."

"Worried?" the Doctor snapped. "I don't need protection from a stupid, little human. All of you are just alike. You think I need your help. Let me tell you something, Gatsby Goode, you only get in the way. You waste my time. I have more important things to do than save idiot children like you."

It was the harshest thing anyone had ever said to her. Gatsby felt the tears prickling, but she didn't want him to see her cry. She'd been useless, unimportant, for all of her life, but the Doctor had made her feel special. He'd made her feel capable of wonderful things, if only for a little while. She'd thought that, perhaps, she meant something to him, and it was crushing to discover that she didn't.

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's my fault for bringing you along. As soon as I'm back, I'll take you home and you can continue on with your life as though I never existed."

This time she didn't stop him from leaving. She waited for him to disappear around the corner before sliding down the wall to the floor. She knew she wouldn't follow him. It felt as though this world, this impossible world that she'd only just begun to experience, was collapsing around her. All of the places she'd never see and all of the adventures she'd never have, she felt them slipping from her hands. It was disappointment as she'd never known. Her life had only just begun and it was ending just as quickly, all because of one tiny mistake. All because she'd died.

Drowning hadn't been death though. Far from it. Gatsby saw the light that Ginevra had mentioned earlier. It was the beautiful light of dreams and it was burning out, like a star. She'd been given the entire universe, briefly, and it was being stolen away from her now, but that wasn't the worst of it. What truly broke her heart was watching the Doctor walk away, knowing that she'd lost him. She'd waited for so long, and he was wrong yet again. Gatsby Goode knew that she couldn't simply continue as though he'd never existed, as though she'd never known him, even if she'd only known him the tiniest bit. She couldn't pretend it had never happened. She couldn't return to her futile life, her boring life, her death bed. Though there wasn't much of a choice. She was helpless. She was just destined to be helpless.


	10. Nine: Positively Nutty

**Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** And on to the next adventure. How about a new planet this time? Read, review, and hopefully enjoy this rather short chapter.

* * *

><p><em>"There's a lot of things you need to get across this universe. Warp drive…wormhole refractors…You know the thing you need most of all? You need a hand to hold."<em>

The Doctor stood alone in his Tardis. Alone was something he knew very well. Alone was his only constant companion. The others came and went. They burned out. Some left of their own volition, others he flung from the Tardis doors and abandoned for their own good, but never for his. He didn't do as well alone. He was a social creature, the life of the party, and it was difficult, he'd found, to throw a party by one's self. The hats always went a bit wilted and the dancing, alas, turned to pacing.

"What would Amy say if she were here?" the Doctor asked aloud. Of course there was no answer, because Amy wasn't there. No one was there. "She'd have told me I was being a git. I am a git. A great, big loser. They deserve better." The Tardis groaned in agreement, as though he needed her accusations. He was adept in the art of self-condemnation. He didn't need Amy or anyone else to tell him he'd made a mess of things. The Haumeans had been safely delivered to Namaka, the Earth rescued yet again, and still the Doctor felt no joy at his success. What did success matter without anyone to share it with? And now he was hiding. The magnificent Doctor, cowering in his blue box, afraid and embarrassed, a proud fool. He didn't know how to apologize. It wasn't something he did. Hubris had always been his downfall. He had all of time and space caught in his hands. Wouldn't that power go to any man's head? Because without a companion there was nothing to remind him that he wasn't a god. There was nothing to, figuratively, bring him back to earth.

A simple apology. I'm sorry, could you ever forgive me? It was easy. He'd saved the universe time and time again! The Doctor would never admit it, but he envied humans, with their silly lives and their chips, their relationships and their knack for apologizing. They were constantly messing up and saying "I'm sorry", but the Doctor, who liked to believe he made very few mistakes, didn't know how. This was a mistake he couldn't deny, nor was the apology he owed Gatsby. She hadn't deserved his cruelty. She hadn't done anything wrong. She'd just been undeniably human, and the problem was that so had he. He'd thought he'd lost her, that wonderful young girl, and like a human, his fear had turned to rage. It was easier to blame someone else rather than accept that that fault was his own. It always was.

"You're a wonderful man," Amy had said after deciding to leave him. "You've given me more than I ever could have hoped for and I wouldn't trade it for anything." He'd known there was a 'but' coming. "But you can be terrible. This life can be terrible." So she'd gone, like all the others. She had Rory, a man completely capable of loving her as she deserved, the sort of love that the Doctor couldn't return. He recognized the way Gatsby looked at him, full of faith. She thought he'd never fail her, but the Doctor couldn't make any promises. There were bigger battles to fight than the safety of one human being.

It was a terrible, lonely life that he couldn't escape. He needed saving from his own existence, his pride, his self. He'd lied to Gatsby. He'd told her he didn't need a silly human to worry about him, oh but he did. He was the unappreciated, unknown hero, and his pride demanded that he have at least one person, to use the term loosely, to applaud him. He wasn't immune to glory. His was just a smaller sort of celebrity, though not any less peril. And that was the heart, or in his case hearts, of the matter. That was the reason he flew away with companion after companion, for the standing ovations they provided and for the shock of perspective that he often lost sight of. Selfish and vain, he needed Gatsby more than she needed him. He needed a fan, more importantly a friend.

As he stood alone in his Tardis, parked in Scott's foyer, the Doctor finally accepted this truth about himself. It humbled him enough to gather his courage and leave the safety of his blue box, to face Gatsby and apologize. He hoped she'd accept, but that was the most frightening part of an apology; not being forgiven.

The Doctor entered the parlor, where Scott and Ginevra were standing by the window, hands clasped, and Gatsby sat alone by the fire, lost in a cocoon of blankets and looking as alone as he felt. She didn't look up upon his entrance. She kept her eyes on the fire and in the distance, but Scott and Ginevra pounced before he'd even passed his foot over the threshold.

"Well?" Ginevra demanded, a hostile note to her tone. She wasn't clear on the exact details of what had occurred between the girl and the Doctor in the hallway, but she could guess, judging by the girl's red eyes, that the mad man had done something horrendous. Scott, bless him, was oblivious to anything other than Ginevra's smooth hand in his, the most impossible event of today's dramas.

"In the words of a dear friend of mine, all is well," the Doctor answered, not entirely honest. Not everything was well.

"Isn't that Shakespeare?" Scott asked. "How can you be friends with…" He looked at the mad man and shook his head, resigned. "You do get around, don't you?" That the Doctor did.

"The Haumeans won't be a bother anymore, though I don't think you'll be having many more sledding parties this year. The snow should be melting."

"Pity," Scott said. He'd come to appreciate the snow. After all, it had given him the opportunity to finally speak to Ginevra.

The Doctor parted from the pair. Scott opened his mouth to say more, but was silenced by a meaningful glance from Ginevra. The two of them slipped out of the room, perhaps to engage in more acts of impropriety, and give their new friends a bit of privacy. Without them the parlor seemed much larger to the Doctor, bigger on the inside. He plopped down beside Gatsby, an uncomfortable silence stretching between them that made him chafe.

"You'll take me home now?" Gatsby muttered miserably. She'd been crying, he knew, and it broke his hearts, but he didn't reach out to her. He felt like a school boy, incompetent and ashamed, a feeling that was new to him.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked.

"If you don't want me."

"Of course I want you, Gatsby Goode."

"But I messed up. I got in your way." She quoted his words from earlier and it didn't escape either of their notice.

"You're only human," he said with a shrug and a grin that Gatsby didn't return.

"And you're not," she stated, dismally. She stood up and folded the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders. "We should go then, before I do something else wrong."

The Doctor caught her arm. Now was the time. He had to do it. He had to say those human words, bite the bullet as they said, and apologize. But how? The Doctor looked at her, the girl with the special spark who didn't know about books, who worried about him, a stranger, and the words were pulled out from all of the universe rushing around inside of his head.

"I'm more human sometimes than I give myself credit for," he said. "I do things wrong too. I hurt people. I forget that they can be hurt. I…I'm…"

"Sorry," Gatsby finished for him.

"Yes. I'm sorry." The Doctor fell to his knees, clutching her hand, and donned his most rueful expression. "I beg for your forgiveness. I'll kiss your feet if you like." Gatsby leapt back, laughing, as he attempted to do just that.

"Not necessary," she squealed.

"Good. I never understood that custom."

"I've never heard of such a custom." She inspected him, still on his knees and still waiting to be absolved. She thought about making him suffer. He deserved it after all, but she just couldn't bring herself to it. He was too absurd, too magnificent, to be angry at for long.

"Oh, stand up. I forgive you." The Doctor leapt to his feet, relieved beyond measure, picked her up and spun her around. Gatsby laughed. How could she not? He was mad and he was still hers. She felt light, giddy. She felt positively nutty. When the Doctor set her down, her cheeks were flushed from joy. They reddened more when the Doctor took her hand. He pulled her towards the door.

"Gatsby Goode, to further my apology, I'm going to take you to the most wonderful place in the universe. I think it's time you had a real adventure!"

"Real adventure?" Gatsby chuckled. "What do you call everything that happened today?"

"I call it Thursday."

They tumbled out of the parlor to find Scott and Ginevra lingering about, looking rather suspicious and flustered.

"Hope we didn't interrupt," the Doctor said cheerily. Gatsby was beginning to learn that his mood was in constant flux between one extreme to the next.

"So you're off then," Scott guessed, reaching for the Doctor's hand to give it a good shake. "I didn't expect you'd stay, though you're more than welcome to."

"We'll see each other again, after you've written Flappers and Philosophers. I'll have a different face."

"A different…I look forward to the day." And he did, with a mixture of excitement and dread, knowing that if the Doctor would be returning to his life there would most probably be another catastrophe.

"Thank you for letting us borrow your sled," Gatsby said in farewell.

"It's yours anytime, fair Gatsby." He kissed her hand, an odd ritual that she had no experience with and which caused another blush. Ginevra, in the spirit of the day, broke with polite behavior and pulled the girl into a hug.

"He's a good man," she whispered into the girl's ear, so the men wouldn't hear. "You chose well." Gatsby couldn't agree more.

"So did you," she replied, glancing at Scott. Ginevra smiled shyly and slid back into Scott's arms. As the Doctor led Gatsby away, she turned back to wave at the couple one last time.

"They're nice people," Gatsby said, as the Doctor held open the Tardis door for her. She was a bit sad to be leaving them and this place. The Doctor seemed to read her thoughts. He nudged her gently into the Tardis.

"Indeed, they are." He pulled the door shut. Then an idea struck him. "I brought you all this way to show you what a book is! I completely forgot!"

"Well, you were busy saving the world." But the Doctor was already dragging her out of the room. They hurried through a series of complex passageways and Gatsby realized the blue box was even larger than she'd thought.

"How many rooms do you have in this place?" she exclaimed, as the Doctor skidded to a halt in front of a bright red door, marked by patterns of silvery designs. Were they words? Another language? The Doctor held out an arm, blocking her entrance.

"A few thousand, give or take. I think there's a planet in here somewhere, but this room!" He looked like a child on Christmas morning. "There are a million worlds in this room alone." His excitement was infectious. Gatsby tried to move around him, but the Doctor wouldn't budge.

"Well, let me see!"

"Close your eyes." She did as she was told. She heard the click of a doorknob being turned. The Doctor took her hand again and she let him lead her inside, to the room with a million worlds. Her heart raced. The Doctor's hand slipped from hers. She heard and felt him move away, returning seconds later to place something into her empty hands.

"Miss Goode, I'd like to introduce you to the Tardis library. Open your eyes." There were no worlds as far as she could see, only a stretch of endless shelves with endless little boxes on them, one of such boxes was in her grasp. She looked at it. Scrawled across it's lid were the words "The Great Gatsby" and beneath in smaller script "F. Scott Fitzgerald".

"Open it," the Doctor ordered. Inside were pages with more words, so many words. She'd never seen anything like it before.

"What is it?"

"A book!" The Doctor rubbed his palms together. He gestured to all of the other boxes, the books. "Each one with its own world inside and all yours." She was stunned. She didn't quite know what to say or why she was crying again when she wasn't sad. A new feeling, not happiness and not sorrow, but belonging.

"It's lovely," she whispered. She tried to hand "The Great Gatsby" back to the Doctor, but he tucked his hands in his pockets and wouldn't take it.

"Keep that one. It's got your name on it, after all." Still at a loss for words, she opened the book again, flipped through the crisp pages, and stopped at a single line. She read: "Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It alludes us, but that's no matter—tomorrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms further…And one fine morning—so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past." It was the most beautiful thing she'd ever heard. She looked up at the Doctor, her Doctor, and smiled. She believed in that "orgiastic future". She knew that with him she would run faster, further, than anyone else had before.

"Thank you," she said, finally finding the words. For everything, she added silently. She could hear the worlds in this room whispering to her. She could hear even all of the worlds outside of it. The Doctor was dangerous. His life was terrible, but she'd never wanted anything more than to be a part of it.

Even when the Tardis began to shake and she found herself suspended in mid-air as the room turned upside down, all of the books sliding from their shelves and raining down on her.

"Doctor!" she cried, as they tumbled through space. "What's happening?" Grinning like a fool, he replied.

"We're crashing." And so they were. Off to the next adventure. Stretching out their arms further to find something to hold on to as they fell.


	11. Ten: Knock and a Myth Shall Answer

**Disclaimer:** You know, I don't own Doctor Who. A pity.

**Author's Note: **I'm very excited for this next adventure. Oh, and the character of Berly is dedicated to a dear friend of mine.

Read, review, and hopefully enjoy.

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><p><em>"The good things don't always soften the bad, but vice-versa, the bad things don't necessarily spoil the good things and make them unimportant."<em>

The Blue Box had been silent for over five hundred years. It hadn't made so much as a squeak since the day it'd crashed in the Capital Plaza, on the head of the beloved Emperor Venerablesmite, who had died instantly. No one knew where the box had come from or, more importantly, how it had ended up here. Some speculated it was a bomb sent by the foreign enemies above, biding its time to detonate, while others just thought it was a signal from the mysterious forces of the universe that every child born on a Tuesday, the day the box had fallen from the sky, was destined for great failure. The majority of the population didn't care. They couldn't explain the thing, so it might as well not exist. Anyone who could remember the day the box had crashed had died long ago. It was a mystery, and as mysteries go, it had been forgotten.

After a century of being studied by the best scholars, the Blue Box had been retired to the Palace basements, along with all of the other strange things that had fallen from the sky, nestled between the ostrich cages and the box of kitchenware. Things were always crashing. No one knew why. No one cared, except for a few fanatics who said that the entire universe was raining down on the city, bit by bit. The box was no different. In scholarly pursuit, it had been beaten with hammers, drawn by famous artists and tickled with feathers. Though no one had ever thought to knock on the door. At least not until Berly Wherewithal was assigned late night patrol duty.

Berly had been a member of the Most Honorable Guard for nearly six years, yet she was still assigned the worst details. She'd joined the Guard to escape an ill-matched marriage with an ill-tempered mate. It had been a rash decision and one her parents hadn't approved of, but she'd been young and disappointing her family had seemed like such fun. She hadn't anticipated how dull being a member of the Guard would be. After all, there were no battles to fight and no glory to be found. It was an endless string of patrol this hallway and patrol that nook or cranny. Tonight was no different.

She would much rather have been in bed than marching up and down the narrow paths between all of the universal crap, dusty and forgotten, in the palace basements. The place gave her the heebies. It was strange, full of foreign debris. She passed the ostrich cages, repressing a shiver and a yawn, and stopped her marching to rest against the Blue Box. The Guard issue boots were uncomfortable to say the least, and though it went against all protocol, she removed them from her sore, cold feet. There was no commanding officer around to lecture her breech in conduct. Besides she wouldn't be much good if her toes fell off, as it was they were permanently cramped.

Shoeless, Berly decided now was the perfect time for a bit of a break. She'd been pacing for the better part of the night, though she didn't know why. No one came down here unless they absolutely had to. Why would they want to? There was nothing interesting, especially not some silly box. Berly looked at the thing. Well, perhaps it was a bit interesting. She couldn't help wondering what might be inside. It was a box, wasn't it? And boxes were meant to have things inside of them. She had a personal love of boxes, a guilty pleasure, and a small collection of them stashed beneath her mattress; all sorts of them, all sizes, all colors, but nothing quite like this one.

With nothing better to do, Berly circled the box. It was wooden. That much was obvious. It wasn't very big, but bigger than the boxes under her mattress. There was the writing too; police call box, whatever that meant, no one had ever heard of such a thing, not even a record of one in the vast histories.

"What have you got hiding inside of you?" Berly asked, expecting no reply. She tapped the front door. "Anyone home?" It was a little joke to herself, of course. She hadn't anticipated that the box would, in a manner of speaking, answer her. Berly leapt back as the thing lit up and began to shake, no, tremble was more accurate. And purr? Could that strange, raspy noise be considered a purr? As though the box were a cat and her touch had drawn out a sound of pleasure? She stared, absolutely flabbergasted, for a few moments as the trembling increased.

"BIDDICK! CREAM!" she yelled, unable to move. Her voice bounced off all of the strange things in the basement and quickly reached the two young guards on duty with her. The boys, for they surely weren't men, found her within seconds.

"What's it doing?" Biddick and Cream, brothers with an annoying habit of speaking in unison, asked. Berly didn't answer. It wasn't as if she knew what the thing was doing! Without taking her eyes off of the Blue Box, afraid of what it might do next if she did, she issued her first order since joining the Guard.

"Get the General! Hurry, go." The brothers didn't need to be told twice. They scurried away, leaving Berly alone. She regretted not asking one of them to stay with her, but she was brave, regardless all her other flaws. She was brave, headstrong and incredibly frightened. Not of the box, but of the possibility that she'd done something terribly wrong by touching it. If it was a bomb, had she just activated it? She didn't particularly enjoy her position in the Guard, even more so she didn't want to return home to her family, fired and ashamed. Perhaps she should lie when the General arrived. She could deny having touched the thing. She'd merely been patrolling when she'd noticed that the box was acting strangely, very strange indeed! It was trembling more than ever, convulsing, after having been still for so long.

Just as she feared it would burst, Biddick and Cream returned with General Rhammar, who looked far from pleased at having been dragged from bed in the middle of the night.

"There better be a good reason for…" His attention was pulled away from his reprimand by the box. It gave a final shudder before becoming motionless, perfectly docile except for the light spilling out of it.

"Impossible," General Rhammar muttered.

"But look!" Biddick and Cream cried.

"It's opening," Berly confirmed. So it was. The Blue Box had finally decided to open. All it had taken was a knock. The four guards stood in wonder as the blue doors swung open, none of them daring to breathe or blink. Anything could be inside! Perhaps the greatest danger in the entire universe. Or, as it so happened, a man with a bowtie.

"Did someone knock?" the man asked, smiling at the congregation of gaping guards. Despite her decision to deny her actions, Berly raised her hand.

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><p>General Rhammar had seen a lot of unusual things during his time as head of the Most Honorable Guard, but this was beyond anything he'd experienced before. He inspected the odd couple through the iron bars of the cell he'd ushered them into moments ago. They hadn't put up any fight. In fact, they seemed to almost enjoy being arrested. The man did for sure. He hadn't stopped grinning since he'd stepped out of the Blue Box. The girl, however, had stared at him in a most impolite manner. She looked as though she might be in shock.<p>

"It has scales," she'd whispered to her companion. General Rhammar had bristled at being called an it. He was rather proud of his scales. They were a striking shade of crimson and he knew just how to catch any light to make them gleam most impressively. Their similar shading to blood had been a clear sign to his clan that he was meant to be a military legend. All of the greatest generals had red scales of some shade or another. His current situation wasn't one that he'd ever have imagined occurring during his career, yet here he was in the prison hut with the two foreigners.

"Who are you?" the General asked. It seemed the best place to begin.

"I'm the Doctor," the man supplied willingly. "And this is Gatsby Goode. Who are you?"

"Impertinence," the General barked. "I ask the questions."

"Carry on then. Do you want to know where we're from? Why we're here? How we got here?"

"I said I'll be asking the questions!" General Rhammar glowered at them for a moment before asking, "Where are you from?"

"Earth," the girl chirped. She was still ogling him.

"Me? I'm from here and there."

"That's not a valid answer," the General snarled. He wasn't in a mood for games. If only the foreigners had had the decency to wait until morning to pop out of their box.

"You've never been to here and there? It's a lovely place, great views."

"Enough." The General decided it wasn't worth the effort to force the issue. He moved on to the next question. "Why are you here?"

"No idea," the man said. "Not sure how we got here either. Do you know?"

"I asked you."

"I asked you back."

General Rhammar turned his back on the prisoners to regain his temper. It wouldn't do to kill them before he knew more. Besides he didn't have permission yet. Taking in a few deep breaths, he faced the man, who called himself the Doctor, again.

"Your box, what is it? Some sort of weapon?"

"It's a Tardis," the girl said. "Time and Reverent Dimensions in Space."

"Relative Dimensions," the Doctor corrected.

"I don't care what it's called. I want to know what it does!"

"It's my ship."

"Your ship?

"His spaceship," the girl elaborated. "And time machine."

"But it's a box," the General said.

"It looks like a box. It's really a ship."

"And a time machine," the girl added. The General's head was spinning.

"Fine, it's a ship."

"And a time-"

"Right, right, I understand." He didn't. "What have you been doing inside of it for five hundred years? Spying on us?" For the first time since exiting their ship, the couple looked truly shocked.

"Five hundred years!" the girl gasped. "We've only been here a few minutes. Haven't we?" She turned to her companion. "I don't look like five hundred years has gone by, do I?"

"Humans," the man scoffed. "Always worried about their looks. I'm 910 years old and do you see me worrying about age spots?"

"Well, you can do that regenerating thing. You don't have to worry about gray hairs," she mumbled. The Doctor ignored her.

"You say we've been here for five hundred years?"

"Yes." The General had given up on trying to stop the man from asking questions. He was too old for this, and too sleep deprived.

"Why have you arrested us?" the girl blurted. "We haven't done anything wrong."

"You killed the great and good Emperor Venerablesmite! You crashed right on top of his head."

"Five hundred years ago," the girl persisted. "That's some statute of limitations! Besides, we didn't mean to."

"Oh, I suppose it was an accident your ship landed on him and it wasn't an assassination."

"It is an unfortunate coincidence," the man admitted. "But we're just travelers. Our ship went a bit wonky, does that sometimes."

Berly arrived just in time to keep the General from popping a major blood vessel. She was carrying a covered tray.

"Thought they might be hungry," she said. Bringing the prisoners food was the only excuse she could think of to come down for another look at them. The General glared at her, but said nothing. It was late. He couldn't deal with the foreigners anymore tonight.

"Your punishment will be decided in the morning," he addressed the prisoners, then turned on his heels and departed, leaving Berly alone with the two.

"Punishment?" Gatsby stammered. She sat down on a marble bench in the corner of the damp cell and drew her knees against her chest. It was chilly in the dungeons.

"Most likely execution," Berly said, sliding the tray through a metal trap door. The Doctor removed the lid, unconcerned by the possibility of execution, and scooped up a spongy green glob. It looked something like Jell-O. It tasted something like boogers, but to be polite he smiled and swallowed it.

"We're going to be executed," Gatsby groaned. "Doctor, use your screwdriver thingy and get us out of here."

"Left it in the Tardis."

"Of all the times to be an idiot, you chose now?" she snapped.

"I always chose to be an idiot," he said, looking affronted.

"Excuse me?" Berly was still there, intrigued by the odd pair. "I overheard you talking to the General. Did you say you were from a place called Earth?" Gatsby nodded. She was still awestruck by the creatures here, with their scales. This one had brilliant turquoise scales, shimmering in the dim light, and Gatsby noticed translucent webbing between the woman's, for lack of a better word, fingers. They seemed to be some species of fish people, beautiful in a way, and somewhat eerie in their movements, as though they were swimming through air.

"Earth," Berly repeated. "Is that a place in the Above Lands?"

"The what?"

"You know, the Above Lands." She pointed upwards with her webbed fingers.

"I don't know actually," Gatsby said testily. Still thinking of their imminent execution, she wasn't in the mood for conversation. The Doctor, however, was always in the mood and always interested.

"Where are we exactly?" he asked.

"You're in the renowned city of Atlantis." Berly cocked her head to the side curiously. These foreigners didn't seem like assassins to her. A bit clueless, yes, but not at all a threat. She'd never met a foreigner before. No one in Atlantis had.

"Atlantis!" the Doctor shouted, making both Gatsby and Berly startle. "No way! This is magnificent."

"I don't see what's so magnificent. We're in prison," Gatsby grumbled. "What's Atlantis anyways?"

"A myth, well, everyone thinks it's a myth. I thought it was a myth, but here we are." He looked at Berly. "But you're a fish."

"I'm an Atlantian," Berly said, squaring her shoulders proudly.

"What sort of myth?" Gatsby didn't want to be curious. She wanted to brood, but she couldn't bring herself to be too sullen, not in a mythical place full of fish people.

"It's a city, an ancient one, that's said to have sunk into the ocean hundreds of years ago. At least that's the human version of it."

"Wait," Gatsby said, standing up, "Do you mean to say we're underwater?"

"Of course." Berly spoke up again. "Where else?"

"I don't know, land maybe?"

"The Above Lands are inhabitable. No one can survive there." The Doctor looked intrigued, so Berly decided to give them the old legend. "It's said that Atlantis used to be in the Above Lands, but the first emperor, who's name can't be remembered, moved the city beneath the sea when the foreigners began arriving. There were many wars. The land was destroyed, so the emperor brought us here where it was safe."

"How long ago was this?" the Doctor asked.

"Well, the histories say we've been here for three trillion delta years."

"And no one's been to the Above Lands since?"

"No, they'd die. The land is noxious now." The Doctor pressed his face against the bars. Berly didn't like the way he was looking at her. It made her feel, well, de-scaled.

"How do you know it's uninhabitable if no one's been up there?" Berly had no answer. She'd never thought of that before. Everyone just knew that the Above Lands were a bad place, unsafe. Every Atlantian had been warned against trying to go back since birth. But what if the warning was wrong? What if the Above Lands were habitable? How adventurous it'd be to go to them! To be the first on the earth in three trillion delta years!

Berly pushed the thought from her mind. No, it wasn't safe. It wasn't possible. They were safe in their city underwater. Why risk it? For fun, she answered herself, Its got to be better than patrolling all of the time. Still, impossible.

"I should be going," Berly said hurriedly. She liked the foreigners well enough, but they were almost too much, too foreign. She nodded to the prisoners and dashed back up the stairs, trying to leave the tingles she felt down with them in the dank dark. She was unsuccessful.

Gatsby waited for the sound of footsteps to fade before she rounded on the Doctor, her arms crossed and her eyes flashing.

"So what now?" she demanded.

"We wait."

"For our execution!" The Doctor shrugged. He settled down on the straw mat in the corner of the cell and folded his hands behind his head for a pillow.

"Doctor!" Gatsby growled, stomping her foot, too furious to do much else. She didn't want to die. Again. The Doctor peered up at her through one eye.

"Aren't you excited? Even a little bit?"

"Well…" She let her arms fall to her sides. "The fish people are pretty neat."

"Atlantians," he amended.

"Whatever they are, they're going to kill us." She sighed and collapsed onto the mat beside him. She realized that she hadn't slept since she'd flown away with the Doctor. How long ago had that been? It was difficult to gage time in a time machine, ironically enough.

"We did kill their emperor." Gatsby chuckled. She felt her anger slipping away. She lied down, aware of how her arm nudged up next to the Doctor's.

"Five hundred years ago," she added. "How is that possible?"

"Something's wrong with the Tardis." His eyes were closed. "Time outside is moving faster than time inside."

"Is that normal?"

"Not at all." His mouth bunched up into a consternated scowl. "There's something going on here, something bad if it interfered with the Tardis."

"Of course there is," Gatsby said through a yawn, only half listening now. She was so, so tired. The straw mat was thin and sodden, but it felt like a feather mattress just then.

"Atlantis though!" the Doctor rambled. "How cool is that?" He turned to look at her when she didn't reply. She'd fallen asleep; her head nestled into her shoulder. Smiling softly, the Doctor took off his jacket and threw it over her curled body. He rolled over onto his back and looked up at the dripping ceiling. Oh, what had they stumbled into this time? A mythical city on a war-torn planet? Odd the way that myths travelled and became true. All of those humans searching for the lost Atlantis, looking towards the sea when they should be looking to the stars.

"Fantastic," the Doctor murmured to no one in particular, as Gatsby reached for his hand in her sleep.


	12. Eleven: What Not and Not Safe

__**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** Well, I had to drag myself through writing this chapter, so I hope it doesn't show too much. Read, review (and thank you if you already have), hopefully enjoy.

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><p><em>"There's no point in being grown up if you can't still act a little childish sometimes."<em>

Word travelled fast in Atlantis and by morning the opening of the Blue Box was all anyone was talking about. Biddick and Cream, previously unimportant, were now the most popular pair in the city. They were standing guard outside of the prison, where a small crowd had gathered to hear a firsthand account of last night's events.

"The box went spiffy." Biddick leapt dramatically.

"All lit up." Cream shoved his brother off of the ledge.

"And then."

"The doors opened and."

"Out came."

"A man!" The crowd gasped.

"What sort of man?" they demanded.

"An odd sort." Biddick grinned, thoroughly enjoying the attention.

"A mad sort," Cream added, stepping in front of his brother.

"And he said…"

"Alright boys, that's enough." Berly had just arrived. She pushed her way through the mob, upstaging both Biddick and Cream with an impressive glower. General Rhammar had expressly forbidden any of them to speak about the strangers and their box. It was supposed to be a secret, so of course everyone knew.

"Are you going to see the prisoners?" Biddick and Cream asked together.

"It's none of your business." She turned to the assembled citizens. "Shoo," she said. "Nothing to see her. Get back to your daily dramas." Reluctantly and grumbling, the crowd dispersed. "No more showing off, you two," she reprimanded the troublesome duo. "Or General Rhammar will have you de-scaled, I'm sure."

"Kinky." Cream's cheery nature was unaffected by threats.

"Disgusting." Biddick shivered at the thought.

Berly left the pair at the gate and began the plunge into the dungeons. There was a task at hand. Unlike Biddick and Cream, she hadn't entirely lost her focus, though it had surely been shaken. She wasn't sure if she wanted to confront the prisoners again, but she also wasn't sure that she didn't want to see them, and she couldn't bring herself to judge the unruly brothers too harshly. Nothing quite as exciting as this had ever happened in Atlantis. No one had ever met a foreigner before, let alone two, and Berly was rather proud that she had. If she played her cards right, she might just earn a long deserved promotion out of this mess.

The prisoners were awake, thankfully, when she reached their cell. The man was pacing, it didn't appear that he enjoyed being caged for any length of time, while the girl was curled up on the straw mat, chewing her nails anxiously. Berly took a moment to analyze them before making her presence known. They looked about as odd as they acted. Without any scales, she thought they seemed rather indecent, strikingly naked and pinkish. And what was that growing out of their heads? They had no webbing between their fingers. She supposed they wouldn't be very adept at swimming.

"Good morning," Berly said, stepping into the slanted light inching in through the barred window. "Sleep well?"

"Not exactly," Gatsby replied, rubbing the bunched muscles of her neck. She hadn't slept well at all, but it wasn't due to the uncomfortable arrangements so much as the dreams. Yes, she'd finally had a dream, though she couldn't remember a single thing about it. She'd spent the better part of the morning brooding in silence, trying to catch some glimmer of what she'd seen during her slumber.

"So, has our punishment been decided?" the Doctor chirped, a bit too excited by the possibility of execution.

"Not yet." Berly pulled a ring of heavy keys from her pocket and fumbled with the lock on their cell. "The emperor wishes to meet you first."

"Excellent." The Doctor rubbed his hands together, as Gatsby picked herself off of the straw matt. At least they weren't sentenced yet. Perhaps the Doctor could talk his way through this one. If anything, he did have a knack for chattering his way out of difficult situations.

Berly ushered the pair out of the cell and led them through a door, into a dark passageway. She'd been ordered to take the prisoners up to the palace through the tunnels, rather than through the city where the sight of them might result in a fuss by the citizens. The city had a labyrinth of underground passages, connecting the prison to the palace and the palace to the House of the Most Honorable Guard. They were rarely used anymore, but highly useful in cases of emergency, and this certainly qualified as some sort of emergency.

"Please tell me you have a plan," Gatsby whispered, trapezing behind the fish soldier. She stumbled on a loose stone and grabbed the Doctor's arm for support.

"I will." Gatsby gave him a piercing glance. "Eventually."

"Excuse me, Ma'am?"

"Berly. My name's Berly."

"Well Berly then, is your emperor a nice man?" Berly looked over her shoulder at the girl, pitying her.

"He's very, what's the word, cautious." But not nice at all. Emperor Reckonwith was a decent leader, if a bit zealous. It was his job to protect the people of Atlantis and he did his job well, a bit too well. She decided not to tell the prisoners that there was little hope for them. The emperor wasn't known for his compassionate verdicts.

"Watch your step," Berly said kindly, as they began making their way up a flight of uneven stairs. Gatsby clutched the Doctor's sleeve tighter, to keep her balance and to keep from going mad with fear. The Doctor patted her hand before they breeched another door and stepped into the most wonderful room Gatsby had ever seen. The floors were made of a golden crystal that pulsated with reflective light and blended seamlessly with the walls. It was so bright that she had to close her eyes for a moment. Pillars stretched upwards to support a rippling glass ceiling. She could see the ocean stirring above, illuminated by the light of the golden walls. A trillion tons of water was pushing down on their heads. It was beautiful and terrifying. The Doctor whistled his approval.

"The throne room," Berly explained, a hint of Atlantian pride in her tone. Sure enough, Gatsby noticed that at the opposite stretch of the over-the-top hall there was a throne; lavish, embellished with more of the unusual crystals, pearly in color, and double her height. It glistened. It winked. For all its grandeur, it didn't suggest comfort. Power and prestige, but not an ounce of practicality. It suited the creature perched there, the emperor Gatsby guessed. He was shocking, his silver scales (was their shade a sign of aging?) were not diminished by the overbearing shine of the walls, and his robes were made of a fabric she'd never seen before, a silken material that moved about him in currents. To the right of the throne, Gatsby recognized General Rhammar, who seemed as docile as a kitten next to the emperor.

"Word of advice," Berly whispered. "Try not to talk." A near impossible task for the Doctor. They reached the throne. Gatsby, having never met royalty before, dropped to her knees and bowed. It seemed the proper course of action.

"Doctor," she hissed, pulling him down with her. "Please don't do anything stupid," she muttered, knowing the request was useless. Of course he would do something stupid. The room was silent. A pin could be heard hitting the floor or a wind, if there'd been any, stirring through the room.

Emperor Reckonwith had just been given the general's full report on the foreigners. He'd expected the man to be taller. He'd not expected them both to be so hideous. So pink and fleshy, he thought to himself. He was impressed and disgusted by their appearance. Although he claimed to have superior knowledge over his citizens, the emperor was just as curious about the foreigners as everyone else, only curious in a different way. He wanted to know what threat they posed and if they would require a special execution. Perhaps burning? A good burning was always fun. It was his particular favorite.

"Are you immune to fire?" Emperor Reckonwith asked. Gatsby thought it was an odd manner in which to greet someone, but then again she knew nothing about Atlantian customs.

"Nope," the Doctor answered, standing. Really, he was too old to kneel for long. His joints weren't as forgiving as they once were. "I'm not immune to dogwood flowers either. Terrible allergies."

"Crushing?" The emperor enjoyed a nice crushing as well.

"Depends on the weight."

"How about piranhas?" While death by piranha was too bloody for his taste, it was a real crowd pleaser.

"I don't think I'm allergic to those. May I ask what this is all about?" Emperor Reckonwith ignored his question and issued a command to his general instead.

"I think piranhas would be best. Have the tank prepared and a notice to the public issued. We'll set the execution, oh, after my supper. Actually before, my digestion is never smooth after a killing." General Rhammar nodded and disappeared through a door behind the throne.

"Wait!" Gatsby cried, jumping to her feet. "Shouldn't there be a trial?"

"A trial?" the emperor chuckled. "Is that a common practice where you're from?"

"Isn't there some sort of court to decide whether we're guilty or not? A jury?"

"Why would we need a jury, as you call it? Of course you're guilty. No need to make a fuss."

"I disagree!" The emperor's expression darkened. He wanted this whole mess to be tidied up quickly, and he'd never been contradicted before. The nerve of these strangers! Really how dare they protest his decision?

"You assassinated an emperor. How are you not guilty?"

"He has a point," the Doctor admitted nonchalant.

"Doctor!"

"Well he does."

"SILENCE!" Emperor Reckonwith roared. "I've made my verdict. Berly, take them away." Berly moved towards Gatsby, but the girl wasn't having any of that. If the Doctor wouldn't do anything, than she would. She wasn't about to go back to that cell and wait to be fed to the piranhas!

"You can't do this! It isn't fair."

"I can do whatever I like, silly thingy." The emperor leaned forward in his throne. His scales had a menacing glint to them. "You are an enemy to the state of Atlantis. You must pay the consequences." She didn't back down. The Doctor watched, entertained by her gumption.

"This is murder. We didn't even mean to come here, and no great, big…" she fumed.

"Idiot?" the Doctor supplied.

"Idiot fish person is going to put me in a tank of piranhas!"

"BERLY!"

"Yes sir, sorry sir." Berly had been just as captivated by the girl's willpower and forgotten her orders. Remembering her place, she grabbed the girl and tried to drag her away. Gatsby had never thrown a temper tantrum in her life, until now. She kicked and wriggled. She even tried to bite the fishy woman holding her wrists behind her back.

"Let me go!" Gatsby screamed. "Get your gilled hands off of me right this instant. Doctor, DO SOMETHING."

"What's the magic word?"

"NOW!"

"Alright, alright." The Doctor stepped forward, all traces of humor gone and his eyes no longer twinkling. He stared at the emperor, terrifyingly calm. "Emperor Reckonwith, tell me, do you feel that?"

"Feel what?" he snarled. The Doctor crouched down and placed his palm flat against the golden floor.

"Be very still and very quiet." Gatsby ceased her frantic thrashings. Berly went limp. Even the emperor, despite his better judgment, did as the Doctor ordered. At first none of them felt it, but then…then…there was a tremor, the faintest hum beneath their feet. To any human it would go unnoticed, but to the Doctor it felt as if the ground was pulling apart.

"Tiny earthquakes," the Doctor whispered. "Well, I suppose you can't call them that, more like waterquakes, currents beneath the city."

"What of them?" the emperor demanded. The Doctor made his way to the nearest pillar and gestured for Gatsby to follow him. Berly, curious, joined them.

"What do you see?"

"A crack," Berly said. It was an ordinary crack, not even a big one.

"How much force would it take to crack a substance like this." The Doctor rapped his knuckles against the impenetrable surface of the pillar.

"A lot, I suppose, but we have tremors sometimes."

"More frequently these days, I'd say."

"Enough!" Emperor Reckonwith had risen from his throne. Perhaps he wouldn't wait until after dinner to execute them. "Berly, I order you to take the prisoners back to their cell!" But Berly was too interested. For the first time in her life she ignored her sovereign, an act that had never been done before.

"Yes, the tremors have increased. Does it mean something?"

"Something bad." He turned to address the emperor. "This city is in danger, but it's you're lucky day. I'm the Doctor. I can help you."

"Oh really," the emperor growled. Yet his interest had been obtained and the Doctor knew. The tremors had been getting worse and no one could explain why. There'd been casualties; both citizen and architectural. Emperor Reckonwith was conflicted. Perhaps this stranger could be of use or perhaps this was just a ploy for them to escape. It was his responsibility to protect Atlantis. These foreigners could be dangerous. Foreigners were always dangerous. But could he risk the city being torn down by these tremors? Could he risk executing their last hope to uncover the cause of them? The strain of thinking so hard turned his scales a shade darker. Gatsby was tempted to pray to the pretend God that the Anathemas worshipped. Please, she begged no one in particular, let this work.

At last the emperor huffed. He'd made a decision. He didn't like it.

"Fine," he relented. "You have two days. If you aren't successful by the end of tomorrow, you will be executed."

"Excellent!" the Doctor cheered. Gatsby relaxed, but only a bit. Two days, after all, wasn't very much time.

"Berly," the emperor barked. "Don't let them out of your sight." This was an order that she was all too happy to obey. She was moving up in the ranks. Besides, the foreigners were exotic, no doubt about that, but she was peculiarly fond of them.

The emperor gestured for them to leave. He had an execution to cancel. For the time being.

* * *

><p>"So we get rid of her." Gatsby jerked her head towards Berly, who was conferring with another guard. They were in the palace reception. "We find the Tardis and get out of this place. Right? Is that the plan?"<p>

"Not at all."

"Then what?"

"We're going to find out what those tremors are all about," the Doctor stated. He was in a phenomenal mood. This was the adventure that he lived for. The thrill. The danger. The what not and so forth.

"You mean something really is going on here? I thought you were making it up so we could escape."

"I never lie."

"That was a lie," Gatsby muttered.

"Fine," he conceded. "I never lie to emperors."

"Oh really?" She narrowed her eyes, not fooled for a second.

"I never lie to Atlantian emperors."

"You've only met one!"

"And I didn't lie to him, did I? So it's true." He was making her head hurt again. Sullenly, she accepted that he'd won this round. She couldn't find a single hole, loop, or pinprick in his logic.

"Alright, so we're going to save Atlantis. Do you know what's going on?"

"Not a clue."

"Of course not," she grumbled. There wasn't time to say more as Berly had rejoined them. She was beaming.

"I got clearance," she declared. "How would you like to see the city?"

"I'd love to. Gatsby?"

"Sure, it's not like we're on a schedule or anything." No one noticed or noted her sarcasm. Berly led them to the mammoth, and slightly tacky, front doors. She gestured to the guards on either side to open them. Gatsby couldn't resist the tingles of curiosity coursing through her. She'd never been to a mythical city on another planet before. If it was half as magnificent as the throne room…

"Welcome to Atlantis," Berly said, throwing open her arms as if to catch the city spread out before them.

"Goodness," Gatsby murmured. She forgot everything else she'd ever seen, even the stars. Stretched before them, inching out from the bottom of the palace steps, was a world unlike any other. Buildings, tall and squat, squiggly and angular, and all made of the same pulsating crystal as the golden palace. There were splashes of vibrant green, sparkling onyx, bold amethyst and more humble plum, bawdy beryl, flirtatious indigo, laughing tangerine and endless others. The fluidity of the odd stones made the entire city appear to ebb and flow like the water that could be seen through the high glass encasement of the entire place. Everything moved. It made Gatsby feel a pinch nauseated, in a wonderful way.

Oh and the people! So many of them bustling along the silver roads. She tugged the Doctor's sleeve, as they descended the palace steps, and pointed to a woman with a rose-scaled baby strapped to her back. The little thing looked even fisher than the adults. Gatsby trailed behind the Doctor and Berly, oblivious to their conversation, soaking in as much of the city as she could, and realized that the city was doing the same to her. The Atlantians stopped to watch the stranger's pass, none of them daring to get too close.

"Helloooo." The Doctor waved his hand in front of her face, coaxing her back to reality, if any of this could be considered reality! They'd stopped by a fountain spewing the brightest water; sapphires tinkling as they struck the edge of the pool. Gatsby bit back the urge to leap in. She closed her mouth, realizing that it'd been open since they'd left the palace. She plopped down on the lip of the fountain, unable to stand any longer. The Doctor looked concerned.

"Give me a moment," she said. "All of it. I mean everything. You know? There's just…well it's just so much." The Doctor sat down beside her. Their knees bounced together. Gatsby folded her hands in her lap.

"Do you ever get used to it? Going to all of these places?" she asked.

"No," he admitted, grinning. "It's always wonderful." She smiled weakly. Yes, it was wonderful. She thought of her parents back home, in the bland and grey 32nd British Empire, and wondered what they'd think if they were here. She couldn't imagine them here, with all of the color and noise. They didn't even have flowers where she came from!

"We've never had outsiders in Atlantis," Berly said. "You should feel honored." Gatsby did. It was so overwhelming. She felt small. She was a dot on top of a dot on top of an eyelash. Bit by bit, she reassembled herself as best she could.

"What are they doing?" Gatsby asked, looking at a group of children, the tallest of them might reach her knees. Each of them was standing on a different colored ball, rolling around the courtyard, laughing and chasing one another.

"Playing tag," Berly explained. The Doctor grabbed Gatsby's hands and pulled her up. She didn't have time to protest, not that she would have anyways. As they approached, the children stopped. The smallest of them slipped right off their ball from shock. They peered up at the Doctor, their small eyes dubious.

"Mind if we join in?" the Doctor asked. None of them answered. One of them fled. "Don't worry," the Doctor crouched to their level. "We come in peace." The tallest of the children, still hesitant, nudged two balls, orange and tickle me pink, towards them.

"We're supposed to stand on them?" Gatsby asked, unsure. The child nodded. "Doctor, you first." She stood back with the children and watched the Doctor give it a go. He put one foot on the ball, lifted the other, and fell. Gatsby and the children laughed at the way his gangly legs flailed in the air. Red in the cheeks, he picked himself up.

"You try then," he grumbled at Gatsby. She stepped onto the tickle me pink ball, one foot and then the other, and for a second she was perfectly balanced before following the Doctor's example. The children laughed louder, returning to their childish, carefree selves.

"Let me show you," a little girl, with sunshine scales offered. She showed Gatsby the proper way to stand on the ball. After falling again and again, Gatsby finally got the hang of it.

"Look Doctor!" she cried. "I'm doing it." She rolled a few feet forward, while Berly clapped on the sidelines. The Doctor tried another time and ended up on the ground.

"Show off," he muttered, as Gatsby rolled past him, chasing the giggling sunshine girl, but he smiled at the sound of Gatsby's laughter.

"Here," Gatsby said, jumping down from her ball. "I'll help you." She stood in front of him, taking both of his hands as he stepped up so that he could keep his balance.

"This isn't that hard," the Doctor said.

"Then you won't mind if I let go?" She slipped her hands from his. Within seconds, he toppled forward, crashing into her. They landed in a tangled, giggling heap on the ground.

"Not so hard," Gatsby gasped, clutching a stitch in her side.

"You didn't give me enough warning."

"Admit it, I'm better at something than you."

"Bet you can't calculate the distance from the planets Glum and Dire without using your fingers."

"Admit it."

"Or clean a stardust reactor without blowing up the universe."

"Doctor, admit it." The Doctor stood, brushed off his trousers, straightened his bow tie and sighed.

"Fine, you're better at balancing on a ball, but you can't-"

"HA!" Gatsby threw her fist in the air to celebrate her success. There was something she could to that he couldn't. She linked her arm through his and they made their way back to Berly, who had tears in her eyes from laughing so hard. Gatsby sat back down on the edge of the fountain and trailed her hand through the sapphire water.

"Berly, what type of stone are all of the buildings made from?" she asked.

"Crystal from the Cove."

"The Cove?" The Doctor perked up.

"Yeah, the Crystal Cove outside of the city. It used to be harvested, but lately the crystals have been doing strange things. No one goes their anymore, except for Flopp."

"Strange how?" The Doctor seemed too interested. He had that look in his eyes, the look that meant he just might have an idea. Gatsby felt the momentary peace slipping away. Oh well, it was bound to happen.

"I don't know." Berly paused, mulling over her next suggestion. "I suppose we could go see for ourselves, if you want."

"A crystal cove," the Doctor mused. His face split into a grin. "Of course I want to go! What are we doing sitting here if there's a crystal cove to explore?"

"Do you think it has anything to do with the tremors?" Gatsby asked.

"Won't know until we go."

"Alright then. We'll have to see Flopp first. He's the expert." Berly wasn't sure about this excursion, but she couldn't say no after suggesting it in the first place. Besides, she didn't think the Doctor would listen even if she did say no and the emperor had ordered her to stay with them. What could go wrong?

Rolling her eyes as the Doctor bounded away, Gatsby knew that a very large number of things could go wrong, but it was a crystal cove. Who could say no to that? The adventure. The thrill. The what not and not safe.


	13. Twelve: Time Up Tempo

__**Disclaimer: **I do not own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** I hope no one is growing bored of this story. I hit a writing lull, but I'm pushing through :) Read, review, and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>"A broken clock keeps better time than you."<em>

All across the universe someone is specializing in something. There are experts on the common variety garden mole and the not so common garden molecular integrity. A clan of Perilous Monks, having taken up their isolation on the spaceship Holier Than Thou, have dedicated their life to the science of silence and its positive effects on civilization. There are even experts on the eighth leg of the eight legged star-spider, just the eighth leg, none of the other seven seem to matter very much. The Doctor had never considered himself an expert on anything, though he dabbled in many subjects and knew a particular bit about exploding supernovas and porch swings. Gatsby Goode specialized in anything mundane, as did everyone else from the 32nd British Empire, and Berly was rather well-versed in ancient Atlantian quatrains. Indeed the universe and people's heads are full to bursting with useless knowledge.

Professor Flopp would argue that his specific expertise was anything but useless. He'd studied the Crystal Cove since boyhood, always the lonely lad with his scaly nose in a book while the other children floundered about. He'd been born serious, somewhat erratic, and altogether socially incompetent. The crystals were something that could be studied, understood to a certain degree, unlike sentient creatures (a viewpoint that psychologist tend to disagree with).

The Crystal Cove had always been Professor Flopp's obsession for reasons that not even he knew. The experts on what we don't know about ourselves might have an explanation, but Flopp had never given them much credence. All he knew was that he loved the Cove, as much as he was capable of loving anything, and it troubled him that the crystals were acting oddly. It troubled him more that he didn't know why. After all, he was an expert. By definition he was supposed to know why. Why didn't he? Why? Why?

"Why!" Professor Flopp threw aside the charts in his hand. He'd gone over them a thousand times in great detail, yet they still made no sense to him. Perhaps this signaled that his life had run its course. What does a specialist have to live for if they can't specialize anymore? The Crystal Cove was his life and he was losing his grip on both. Rubbing his tired eyes, he picked up the charts again, a desperate man looking for the missing piece, looking for the answer that wasn't there. The answer that had just entered the room.

"Hello," the Doctor said merrily, ignoring the sign on the door that clearly stated "Do Not Disturb". "Nice place you have." He took in the professor's cluttered study; all of the indecipherable maps and numbers, a brass jiggery pokery stuffed into a dusty corner. Professor Flopp gaped at him, a fish out of water. No one had ever barged into his study before.

"Excuse me!" Professor Flopp exclaimed, rather flushed around the gills.

"Your excused."

"Doctor," Gatsby gasped, rounding the corner with Berly behind her. They were both winded.

"Really, I must protest!" Professor Flopp protested.

"Sorry Sir." Berly clutched the stich in her side. "We're here on the Emperor's behalf." It was only half of a lie. She hoped the universe would forgive her.

"The emperor?" Professor Flopp had to sit down. The emperor had never shown much interest in him before. "Please don't touch that!" The Doctor stepped away from the whirly gig he'd been playing with. Experts could be so touchy about their equipment.

"Professor Flopp, I'd like to introduce you to Miss Gatsby and the, um, the Doctor."

"How do you do?" Gatsby said.

"He's in shock," the Doctor replied, studying a map pinned to the wall.

"I'm offended," Professor Flopp cried. "Really, the emperor could have at least sent a note of forewarning."

"Sorry Sir, there wasn't much time for that."

"Time!" The Doctor spun around. "Right, there isn't time! Well, there is time, but we don't have it. You're the expert? Funny tie for an expert. Are those seahorses?"

"I like this tie. It was a gift."

"No it wasn't," the Doctor guessed, correctly.

"Why has the emperor sent you stampeding into my study?" Professor Flopp directed the question to Berly. He didn't like the look of the foreigners.

"He thinks they can help us with the tremors." Another half-truth. The emperor didn't think the Doctor and his companion could help, he just didn't have many other options.

"Tremors, goodness, that's none of my concern."

"It's everyone's concern, Sir."

"Yes, of course, but I don't see how I can be of any use, so if you'd just-"

"Are you sure he's the expert? He doesn't seem very expert-y." The Doctor peered at the professor unconvinced.

"Don't be rude," Gatsby chided.

"Don't be rude," the Doctor mimicked. "There isn't time to be nice. We should be in the Cove already, and yet we're standing around here wasting our time on niceties. The universe is full of niceties. Go somewhere else if that's what you're looking for."

"Your rambling isn't helping us get anywhere faster," Gatsby snapped. To her amazement, the Doctor shut up. He pretended to zip his lips together, rather childishly. Gatsby let him sulk. She turned to the professor and gave the startled man a kind smile.

"Professor, we were told that you know more about the Crystal Cove than anyone else." Flattery, she'd learned long ago, could get you almost anywhere.

"That's true," Professor Flopp admitted.

"We were hoping you could take us there. My friend thinks they might have something to do with the tremors."

"I think I'd know if they did."

"Some expert," the Doctor muttered, unable to stay silent for long. Gatsby shot him a glare. He might know how to do a thousand things better than her, but he didn't have the faintest idea how to be civil.

"I've studied that Cove my entire life!"

"I've known about it for a few hours and I know it has something to do with tremors. Now I'm trying to find out what."

"Who are you?" Professor Flopp demanded.

"Clever. I'm clever."

"And rude," Gatsby muttered.

"Alright enough!" Berly decided it was time to step in before Professor Flopp declared war on the foreigners. She held up her hands and stood between them. Men, it didn't matter their species or where they were from, always needed to be better than other men. "Professor, we need to go to the Cove. It's the emperor's command. You wouldn't disobey your emperor?"

Professor Flopp seethed. The last thing he wanted to do was take that arrogant man into his precious Crystal Cove, but he had no choice. He didn't dare refuse the emperor. Though it chipped away a bit of his already broken pride, the professor lowered his head in defeat.

"I'll take you." And hope you drown on the way, he added to himself.

"Thank you very much," Gatsby said. "We really appreciate-"

"What did I say about niceties, Goode? The clock is ticking." The Doctor tapped his wrist where a watch would be if he had one.

"Here's a nicety for you." Then Gatsby called him something rather repulsive, a word the Doctor hadn't known she knew, a word that the professor had been thinking of using himself, a word that made Berly blush and snigger into her sleeve. Gatsby stomped to the door.

"The clock is ticking," she called over her shoulder, grinning, before exiting the study.

* * *

><p>"Are these suits really necessary?" Gatsby snapped the sleeve of her elastic swim gear. "They're a bit tight." To put it lightly. She could hardly breathe in the thing. It felt like a second skin, a very stretchy, sheeny skin.<p>

"To ward against hypothermia," Professor Flopp explained. The four of them were crammed into an elevator obviously not meant to transport so many people. The Doctor's elbow was snuggled between Gatsby's ribs rather painfully and the suit made her sweat. This was certainly no luxury cruise. The Doctor didn't seem to mind. He was content to peer over the professor's shoulder as he punched a few buttons on the console panel and jimmied a rusted, metal rod.

"We're over capacity, so try not to wriggle around," Professor Flopp warned.

"What happens if we do?" Gatsby asked hesitantly.

"We crash to the bottom of the ocean floor." The professor pressed the final button, before Gatsby could ask to sit this adventure out, not looking forward to crashing on the ocean floor. The elevator shimmied, groaned and complained. Then they were falling, too fast for Gatsby's taste. She didn't dare move as they plummeted down. Crammed in beside her, the Doctor whooped, and on the other side Berly fought to keep the contents of her lunch in her stomach. The gears growled more threateningly the further they sank. It felt as though they were falling for years, before with a sudden jolt that sent all of them forward against the unyielding safety bars, the elevator stopped. The Doctor was the first one out, pushing past the professor in his eagerness. Gatsby felt she would rather turn to jelly than follow him. She leaned against the wall for a moment to catch her breath, having left it at the top of the shaft.

"You alright?" Berly asked. She laid a cool hand on the girl's arm. Gatsby nodded.

"He forgets sometimes, the Doctor, he forgets that I'm not used to this."

"Used to what?"

"The universe."

"Are you two coming or do I have to do all of the impressive stuff without an audience?" The Doctor popped his head back into the elevator. Gatsby squared her shoulders. She didn't want him to know that she was frightened. Excited, certainly, but trembling on the inside. When she'd first boarded the Tardis she'd asked him to slow down. She wished she could ask him again. He was always moving, always thinking, and it was still so new to her. But Gatsby smiled. She tucked in her fears and followed him, playacting a bravery that she didn't have. Berly lagged behind the others, prepared to catch the girl should she faint.

"I don't see any crystals." Gatsby couldn't see much at all. Professor Flopp was leading them down a dark stretch of tunnel.

"It isn't far," he called over his shoulder. Gatsby certainly hoped it wasn't. The tunnel floor was slick with moss. She was focusing so hard on not slipping that she didn't notice when they passed into the Cove. She heard Berly take in a deep, appreciative breath behind her. An eerie light splashed across her feet. She looked up.

The Cove, more of a cavern, wrapped around them. She recognized the crystals from the buildings above, but these were glowing, pulsating, alive. They seemed to breathe color. The Cove's ceiling was too high up to see. She almost broke her neck trying. Every inch was made of Crystal, great and jagged slabs.

"Watch your step," Professor Flopp advised, leading them further inside.

"It's beautiful," Berly whispered. She'd grown up in a city built with the crystals, but she'd never seen them so raw. The Doctor held up his hands. They were painted by the light, more colors than he'd seen in all of his travels across the universe. He placed his ear to a formation of rosy crystal and gestured for Gatsby to do the same.

"Sounds like singing," she exclaimed. "The whole place! But what's that other sound? That roar?"

"Oh, that'll be the whirlpool," the professor explained. He pointed to a tower of onyx stone which reflected the four of them in a shimmery, only half there way. The Doctor rushed forward, ignored the professor's warning to be careful, and began to climb. There weren't many footholds and the crystal was slick, but he managed well enough. Leaving the others behind, forgotten for a moment, he reached the top and looked down into the whirlpool nesting among the crystals. Yes, it did sound like singing, the haunting chorus of the universe. The whirlpool hummed. It beckoned. It swirled deeper and deeper into time and space, reminding him of the Time Vortex he'd confronted as a child. He could hear whispers, faint verses.

Don't forget to milk the cow.

Which was first, the body or the soul?

Doctor, where are you? Doctor. Doctor.

So many voices from so many worlds. His name. A child crying. A mother singing a Gallifreyan lullaby.

Will it hurt?

Are you sure?

The clock is ticking.

Where did Gatsby Goode go?

He didn't know he'd been leaning forward until he felt someone tug at the back of his suit. Gatsby looked at him concerned.

"You were going over," she said, still holding his suit. It took the Doctor a second to clear his mind of the voices. They were gone now, lingering gently in his mind, soft touches in the dark. For the first time in a very, very long time, the Doctor felt frightened. That Gallifreyan lullaby had been so familiar. How could it have escaped the time lock?

"Doctor, are you alright? What is it?" She glanced at the whirlpool, but it's depths unnerved her and she couldn't look for long.

"It's waking up," he whispered.

"What is?"

"Time." But it wasn't the Doctor who answered. It wasn't the professor or Berly, still waiting below. It was an old woman, standing not too far away, though neither Gatsby or the Doctor had noticed her. Her bronzed scales were dulled by age and her eyes, those eyes, seemed to reflect what he'd seen in the whirlpool.

"It's been growing, the whirlpool," the old woman said. "It's why things keep falling into Atlantis, your ship included. Time is getting hungry."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor asked.

"Who knows what I mean? I only say the words that come to me. I hardly know what they mean."

"Who are you?" Gatsby thought it was the more important question.

"I look into the whirlpool. I've seen Time."

"That's hardly a name."

"What's a name Gatsby Goode? The girl in the flying box with the mad man." The old woman moved closer and Gatsby strengthened her hold on the Doctor. "Where did Gatsby Goode go? They're looking for you."

"Who?"

"The people who dream." Dreams. Gatsby thought of the dream she'd had and couldn't remember. She wasn't sure she wanted to now. To her relief, the old woman stepped back.

"Atlantis will drown," she stated, a matter of fact. "If the Doctor doesn't know why the crystals are glowing."

"What do you mean?" the Doctor called after her. The old woman was slipping away to the other side of the onyx cup, the cup of the world, the worldpool.

"I just say it. You find out what it means." Then she was gone as quickly as she'd come, disappearing over the other side. The Doctor and Gatsby stared long after they'd lost sight of her. They were left in a sort of dream and when they woke up, they couldn't tell if it'd happened or not, but they remembered.

Gatsby let go of the Doctor. She shook her head and a thousand unanswered questions rattled around. What had the woman meant about people who dreamed, people looking for her? Who had the woman been? How could Time be hungry?

"Come on," the Doctor said.

"Doctor-"

"Not now."

"But she said-"

"Yes, I heard." He cupped Gatsby's face in his hands. She didn't bother to conceal her fear this time. The woman's words had shaken something lose inside of her, a foggy memory that she couldn't quite catch, a secret just beyond her understanding; like when you ask yourself "Who Am I?" and you feel the answer quivering inside of the cage of your ribs, but you can't speak it, you can't curve the words around it.

"This city is in terrible danger though and we're running out of time. First thing's first, save Atlantis."

"But-"

"Gatsby Goode, trust me." She did, though the old woman's words echoed in her thoughts. The Doctor was right. Prioritize, she told herself, focus. It was a difficult task.

As they scaled back down to Berly and the professor and the whirlpool loosened its grip on them, Gatsby felt silly for being so scared of an old woman. She was probably senile. Didn't know what she was talking about. Absolutely bonkers. At least that's what Gatsby made herself believe.

"What were you doing up there?" Berly asked. "You were gone for ages."

"Really, it couldn't have been more than five minutes," Gatsby said. Why did it seem they kept losing so much time? She had to sit down. She felt light headed, dizzy, upended.

"The whirlpool has that effect on people." Professor Flopp looked sympathetic. He'd only gone to see the whirlpool once and it had been enough. He'd heard things. Things that still made him shiver when he was alone at night. He passed the girl a canteen of water.

"There was a woman up there," the Doctor announced. He'd pulled his sonic screwdriver from somewhere, though where he'd kept it in the impossibly tight suits Gatsby wasn't sure, and was now jumping around, tapping the crystals. Professor's Flopp's expression darkened.

"Oh, that was just O'Problem Pealot."

"O'Problem Pealot?" Gatsby repeated, not sure she'd heard correctly.

"She considers herself a seer," Berly explained. "But everyone knows she's insane."

"Spent too much time staring into the whirlpool. It's turned her brain to mush." Gatsby slumped over in relief. So the woman was crazy. Thank goodness. Whatever it was that she'd said about…about dreams…Gatsby found that she couldn't remember exactly what had just happened. How very strange?

"She said…" Gatsby struggled to recall the exact words. "She said that Atlantis would drown. Something about time. Time is falling? No, that's not it. Maybe time is grooming. Doctor what did she say?"

"Growing. It's growing," he muttered. "But what about the crystals? Why are they glowing?" He slapped the sonic screwdriver against the crystal wall.

"That's what I've been trying to figure out," Professor Flopp said. "I've done a thousand tests, but everything is in conclusive." The Doctor wasn't listening. They didn't have time to run a thousand more tests. He had to understand now.

"The whirlpool's growing," he muttered. "The crystals are…the crystals…OF COURSE!"

"Goodness!" Berly cried, startled by his outburst. Gatsby didn't flinch. She was becoming accustomed to this and she knew the Doctor had just put the puzzle together, judging by his fanatic grin.

"They're isotopic magnets, idle all of these years," he explained, more to himself than to them. "All of the digging and poking you've done down here, cutting off great chunks of them to make your buildings, has activated them. They're making the whirlpool grow! The whirlpool…the whirlpool…" He thought of the voices he'd heard, undistinguishable in his memory now. "Things falling into Atlantis. The Tardis falling into Atlantis five hundred years ago…"

"Get to the point," Gatsby urged.

"It's a vortex! A great, big wound in time and it's festering. The crystals are ripping it wide open."

"That doesn't sound good," Berly said.

"Oh no, it's awful. It's buckets of awful. It's-"

"Alright, we get it." Gatsby stood up and prepared herself for the next danger. "How do we stop it?" The Doctor stopped moving. He looked at each one of them, Gatsby last.

"We don't stop it," the Doctor said gravely. "We get out of the way."

How do we out run a hungry time vortex? Gatsby wondered, but wasn't brave enough to ask out loud. It was the question they all asked themselves. No one knew the answer. Not even the Doctor.


	14. Thirteen: Most Useless of Hopes

__**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note:** Read, review (so that I know people are still reading this), and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>"One good solid hope is worth a cartload of uncertainties."<em>

Professor Flopp had finally found the answer and he didn't like it. He couldn't deny it.

"See the chemical make-up of the crystals?" The Doctor pointed to an old, crumbling piece of paper spread across the professor's cluttered desk. "Lodestone. They're part lodestone magnetite." Professor Flopp flopped into his chair and covered his face with his webbed hands. How had he overlooked that? If he'd only understood sooner…but he hadn't and he felt that the death of Atlantis was on his shoulders.

"I should have known," he muttered. "We're all going to die and it's my fault."

"Yes, it is."

"Doctor!" Gatsby stood behind the poor professor, her hands on his shoulders, and glared at the Doctor.

"Well, he is the expert, not a very good one."

"Shut up," Berly snapped, before Gatsby could argue. She was tired of their arguing. There wasn't time for arguing. According to the Doctor they had less than twelve hours before the city, the entire ocean, was pulled into the vortex. "It doesn't matter who's to blame," Berly continued. "We have to inform the emperor. Atlantis must be evacuated."

"And go where?" Professor Flopp resurfaced from his hands. "There isn't anywhere to go! We're doomed."

"The Above Lands." It was their only hope, their only choice. Berly remembered what the Doctor had said earlier. Perhaps the Above Lands were habitable. Perhaps they weren't. But there was no perhaps about the fate of Atlantis. The city would be destroyed. Berly was willing to take her chances.

"Even if the Above Lands were safe, which they aren't, we don't have enough transport to take the entire population," Professor Flopp pointed out dismally.

"What about the Tardis?" Gatsby suggested.

"Your blue box?" Berly laughed. It was a desperate laugh. "That'll hardly fit everyone. It'd take millions of trips."

"No, it's bigger on the inside. Dimensionally transparent."

"Dimensionally transcendental," the Doctor corrected. "And broken. The vortex is too strong. She won't be able to fly."

"Then what?" Gatsby demanded. "We can't just sit here and sob."

"Then we'll move the city," Berly declared.

"Smashing idea." The professor leapt to his feet. He seemed to have cracked at last. "If it weren't impossible!" Berly was smiling, though none of them understood why. There wasn't anything remotely amusing about their situation, and personally Gatsby had to agree with the professor. Moving the entire city was far-fetched at best. Downright stupid at worst.

"It's not impossible. The city used to be in the Above Lands. It had to have been transported somehow. Maybe we can go back the same way we came."

"Brilliant! Berly, I could kiss you," the Doctor said. Berly blushed.

"Not necessary," she stammered. "It might not work. Only Dahl would know."

"Dahl?" Gatsby asked.

"The mechanic."

"Another expert. Hope he's better than this one." The Doctor jerked his head in Professor Flopp's direction. The professor had given up on defending his honor. He had none left.

"I deserve your insults, Sir," he said, defeated. The Doctor pitied him. Only a small bit. He softened his voice and addressed the professor.

"Don't give up yet. I still have a job for you to do. I need you to take Gatsby to this mechanic and see if it's possible for the city to be moved. Do you think you can handle that?" Professor Flopp nodded, not entirely convinced of himself, even for such a small task.

"Good." The Doctor clapped him on the back, then moved towards the door. "Berly, with me."

"Wait," Gatsby called after them. "Where are you going?"

"To receive a pardon from the emperor," the Doctor replied, not bothering to look back at her or explain further. Before she could ask anything else, he and Berly had gone.

"You know, I hate when he runs off like that," Gatsby grumbled. More importantly she didn't like being left alone on a foreign planet, in a foreign city that was on the verge of destruction, with a mopey professor she'd only just met. Still, the Doctor had given her a job to do. At least he hadn't locked her in the room this time. Gatsby turned to the professor, who was lost in his own personal failings and had hardly noticed the Doctor's departure.

"Come off it," Gatsby barked. The Doctor was right, there was a time and place for niceties and this wasn't one of them. "We have a city to save." She felt important just saying it. The fate of Atlantis, not to mention her own survival, was partly her responsibility now. It was a daunting task. Travelling with the Doctor was even more of one, but this was the life she'd chosen, for better or worse, and she couldn't deny that it was satisfying to feel important. She grabbed the professor's hand, gave it a good squeeze, and hefted him to his feet.

"Let's go see this mechanic."

* * *

><p>Emperor Reckonwith was relaxing in his private chambers, being fed sea urchins by one of his wives. He couldn't remember her name. She was the newest, the youngest and the prettiest. She didn't nag as much as the others. As if he didn't have enough problems without a gaggle of disapproving wives. Then again they wouldn't be wives if they actually liked him. What an odd marriage that would be!<p>

"Which one are you again?" Emperor Reckonwith asked.

"Allota," she whispered and plunked another urchin into his open mouth. Yes, Allota, that was her name. He'd forget again soon enough. They were hard to keep track of, the fifty empresses. Oh, and the children. He never bothered learning their names. He hadn't even met half of those guppies. Come to think of it, he hadn't met half of his wives either.

"Wait a minute, you can't go in there!" Despite the guard's protest, the door of the emperor's private chambers flew open, and in marched the foreigner. He'd forgotten about the foreigner too. Allota shrieked and knocked the plate of sea urchins to the floor, ruining the expensive carpet he'd had installed last week. Well, there was grounds for a divorce. He'd worry about that later though. There were more pressing issues at hand, the man in his doorway for one.

"I couldn't stop them, your Majesty. I'm sorry," the guard groveled. The emperor stood. With a flick of his wrist he signaled the guard's immediate imprisonment.

"Close that door. I can't stand to hear them whine." Berly followed orders, shutting out the sound of her comrade's protests. "So, tell me what you've discovered," the emperor said. "And make it quick. I'm tired."

Obeying, the Doctor blurted, "Atlantis has to be moved. Now," he added, in case he hadn't been clear. The emperor laughed. There would be an execution after all, how grand.

"Ridiculous, absurd, please tell me more. I'm amused."

"There's a vortex under this city. In, let's say, eleven hours Atlantis will be sucked into it and torn into a million pieces."

"Tragic." The emperor was unimpressed. The Doctor was impatient. Berly was shaking in her military boots from either fear or anger, and no one bothered to see how Allota reacted.

"Well?" the doctor demanded.

"Well what?"

"I figured out why the tremors have been getting worse."

"Congratulations. Guard, take him to the cells."

"Didn't you hear me?" the Doctor cried, as he was restrained. "There isn't much time." The emperor sat back down and gestured for his wife to feed him a seaweed roll.

"You don't honestly expect me to move the entire city," he chuckled. "Where would we go?"

"The Above Lands," Berly answered.

"Now you really are wasting my time. Atlantis has been here for three trillion delta years."

"And soon you'll be scattered across time in tiny bits!" the Doctor yelled. He'd made a mistake. No one yelled at the emperor. Absolutely no one. He fixed the foreigner with a steely gaze.

"You're wasting my time. A vortex under the city! It's preposterous."

"But-" Berly began.

"I have had enough!" His outburst caused Allota to startle again and knock over the plate of seaweed rolls. There would definitely be a divorce, as well as an execution. "Take this man away. He'll be burned in the morning."

"PEOPLE WILL DIE!" The Doctor was being dragged out of the room.

"Oh yes, you will." Emperor Reckonwith smirked. "Painfully, I should think."

Berly had heard enough. She'd been subservient all of her life. She was a soldier. She'd never asked questions, but there comes a moment in everyone's life when they can't take another order. Berly had reached that moment. She thought of her parents, who she'd left behind, and even the awful man they'd wanted her to marry. She thought of the children playing tag by the fountain. She thought of the emperor's sniveling wife, who's name she couldn't remember or had never known. These were her people and they were in grave danger. Over her dead body, quite a possibility, would she allow them to die.

"I'll tell them," Berly threatened. The emperor looked up from dusting the crumbs off of his robes. The Doctor gave up his struggle and the guards stared, open-mouthed, at their fellow soldier. Yet again no one bothered to see Allota's reaction.

"Excuse me," the emperor said slowly.

"I'll tell everyone in this city what's going to happen. You'll have a rebellion on your hands."

"You dare defy me!"

"Yes." Berly didn't back down. She wasn't going to run away this time. There comes a moment in everyone's life where they learn to be brave.

"Then it will be an execution for two." With another flick of his wrist, the emperor ordered Berly to be taken into custody.

"YOU CAN'T DO THIS!" she screamed. "I'LL TELL THEM!" They were being ushered out of the emperor's private room.

"Then you'll be gagged." It was the last they heard as the door was closed. Berly continued to fume as they were led down the hall. The Doctor, however, was too stunned to resist. In all of his years he'd never confronted a situation so hopeless. Everything relied on Gatsby now. Gatsby! At least she was safe, for the moment. The emperor might have forgotten about her. Perhaps she could escape. But to where? The Tardis was useless. The city was doomed.

Berly and the Doctor were pushed into the very cell where he and Gatsby had resided earlier. It wasn't any more accommodating. Dare he say even less so. He slumped down against the wall, out of ideas, his life in the hands of a human girl who hadn't known what a book was until a day or two ago.

"It's not over yet," Berly said. "Maybe your friend can convince Dahl to move the city without the emperor's permission." It was a desperate maybe, the most useless of maybes, but the only hope they had.

"You shouldn't have gotten involved," the Doctor said. Berly just shrugged. She'd made her choice. She didn't regret it.

"Sometimes you have to do the right thing, no matter the consequences." It was something he thought Rose would have said. Rose would have thought of a solution. Any of his previous companions would have found a way. The Doctor wasn't sure about Gatsby Goode, he could only hope that he hadn't been wrong in thinking she had that special spark. A useless hope. A desperate, human hope. The last hope for any of them.

"You should really think of moving over to a democracy," the Doctor advised, and to pass the time while they waited for their execution, he told Berly all about democracy.

* * *

><p>"Well yes, it's possible to move the city." Dahl, the mechanic, twiddled his thumbs. He was a nervous man who suffered from severe panic attacks when even just a napkin was folded incorrectly. The presence of this strange girl, demanding him to move Atlantis back to the accursed Above Lands, going on about how the city would be destroyed if he didn't, well it was enough to set off the greatest panic attack he'd suffered in years.<p>

"Then what are you waiting for?" Gatsby tried to sound more impressive than she felt. She tried to sound like the Doctor. He wouldn't take no for an answer. He'd say something about…well, he'd probably say something that she didn't understand. She wished he was with her. Professor Flopp was no use. Once they'd found the mechanic, he'd curled into a small ball in the corner of the room. She could hear him whimpering, though she couldn't see him through all of the steam.

"I…I…" Dahl stammered. "It requires the emperor's seal. Without that I can't do anything."

"Useless!" Gatsby cried, stamping her foot. "All of you are pathetic. Can't you do anything on your own?"

"No," both the professor and the mechanic replied. She'd just about had enough of all of them. These silly Atlantians weren't worth the effort it was taking to save them! Of course, she didn't really believe that, but she was beginning to. She was furious. Beyond furious. A few days ago, before the Doctor had popped back into her life, she'd been just like these fishy people; doing everything she was told, never asking questions, useless, but she was a different person now. She was, like the Doctor, a person who wouldn't take no for an answer.

"It doesn't matter then," Gatsby said. "The Doctor will get the emperor's approval and-" Just then a soldier burst into the room, gasping for air.

"There you are!" Biddick clutched his sides. He'd been running since he'd left the emperor's private room, searching for the girl foreigner.

"Me?" Gatsby was surprised that anyone would be looking for her. Unless…unless… "Where's the Doctor?"

"Your friend." Biddick paused to regain his breath. "Was arrested, along with Berly. They're to be executed in the morning. Is it true? Atlantis is doomed?"

Gatsby went pale. It took all she had not to collapse. She wanted to join Professor Flopp in his corner, but she knew she couldn't. If the Doctor had been arrested then it was down to her to save the city. If she could. Could she? Yes, Gatsby told herself firmly, I can. She was afraid. It was too much. She wasn't a hero. She wasn't the Doctor, but squaring her shoulders, she knew she would have to be for the time being.

"Can you take me to him?" she asked. The Doctor would tell her what to do. He'd tell her how to get the emperor's seal and save Atlantis. Save him. Save herself. Biddick looked hesitant.

"Maybe," he admitted. "No one really uses the underground passages. I could probably get you into the prison that way, but…"

"Then we'll do it." Biddick weighed his options. If they were caught, they would be executed. If they weren't caught, the city would still be destroyed. His options were heavy indeed.

"Take me to him. Now," she added, in case she hadn't made herself clear enough. It was a command. Biddick understood commands.

"Alright," he relented, grateful for being told what to do. "Follow me." Gatsby stared down Dahl, the useless mechanic. He began to hyperventilate.

"I'll be back," she told him. "And you will move this damned city." Then she followed Biddick out of the room, leaving the mechanic and the professor to sob in their corners.

The pair moved swiftly and silently through the soggy passages under the city. Every small sound made Biddick pause, but Gatsby pushed him on in a not so polite manner. The clock was always ticking, faster and faster. She had to see the Doctor. She had no idea what he'd tell her to do, but just seeing him would give her the courage she needed to do whatever. It wasn't long before Biddick was ushering her into the prison.

"I'll leave you here," he said, eager to get away. Gatsby caught his sleeve before he could escape.

"Thank you." She hadn't completely forgotten her manners. With a nod, Biddick disappeared, and she focused on the matter at hand. There he was, her Doctor, lying on the straw mat they'd slept on the night before. So it was true. She'd hoped that, somehow, it had all been a grand mistake.

"Doctor." Her voice broke around his name. The strength that it had taken for her to get here fled when she saw him. Gatsby clutched the bars of his cell, afraid she might finally fall.

"Gatsby?" The Doctor blinked up at her. "Gatsby!" He leapt up and wrapped his hands around hers. "What are you doing here?"

"One of the soldiers told me you'd been arrested. He said you're going to be executed in the morning." He didn't need to answer. His expression said enough.

"Oh Doctor," she sobbed. "I talked to the mechanic. He said you need the emperor's seal to move the city."

"His what?"

"It's his ring," Berly piped in. "That tacky thing, he never takes it off. You'll never be able to steal it." And so they were doomed.

"We don't need to steal it," the Doctor said. He squeezed Gatsby's trembling hands. She was just a child in so many ways. How had he not noticed before? How could he ask her to do what needed to be done? She was crying, and he knew, trying not to.

"Gatsby Goode." He brushed away her tears. "I'm terribly sorry, but I need you to do something."

"I know," she said. "Tell me. I'll do it." Just a child, a remarkable child.

"They're going to have us gagged at the execution tomorrow. I need you to be there. I need you to make an announcement."

"What sort of announcement?"

"Tell the people of Atlantis what's happening. The emperor can't arrest the entire city."

"But these people won't do anything against the emperor. They're all brainwashed." Berly gave a slight cough. "No offense," Gatsby added.

"Their families are in danger. If they know the truth, they'll do anything to save themselves."

"You're sure?" The Doctor couldn't lie to her. He'd never lied to an emperor of Atlantis and he'd never lied to Gatsby Goode.

"Not at all." Gatsby had stopped crying, but she was still trembling. All three of them turned at the sound of footsteps on the stairs. They didn't have much time. Time! Gatsby hated it right then. She hated losing time, the way it kept slipping through her fingers.

"I know you can do it," the Doctor said quickly. He kissed her forehead through the bars. The footsteps were so close. "You're one of the best." He let go of her hands. Gatsby wanted to grab them again. She wanted to be in the cell with him. She just wanted to be with him, but time, awful time, was not on their side.

"Hide in the tunnels until morning," Berly said, as Gatsby backed away. "Remember the fountain? That's where the execution will be held at daybreak." Gatsby nodded to say that she understood. Someone was unlocking the door to the cells. They could hear keys clanking. She had to leave. She had to be brave. Before she broke down and decided that she couldn't leave the Doctor, Gatsby hurried back to the door she'd come through with Biddick just moments earlier.

"Oh and Gatsby," the Doctor called, as she was closing the door. "Try not to be late."

"You're one to talk," she threw back, giving him a weak smile. As one door opened the other one closed. Gatsby slinked back into the tunnel, knowing she wouldn't sleep that night. It seemed that travelling with the Doctor didn't leave much room for sleep at all. She curled up by the door, ignoring the damp and the cold, and focused on how the Doctor was only a few feet away, yet so out of her reach. Vaguely, she touched her forehead where he'd kissed her.

Gatsby Goode wasn't a hero. She was a human girl in a strange place with a strange man. Then again there are no heroes. There are only ordinary people who reach a point in their lives when they have to save the world.


	15. Fourteen: History's Overwhelming Noise

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Doctor Who

**Author's Note:** Sorry everyone, this chapter is a bit rushed, but I didn't want to have to break it up in to two. I trust you'll forgive me :) On to the next adventure, where two lovable Doctor Who characters will make an appearance and Gatsby will meet someone very interesting from her future. Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

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><p><em>"Nobody important? Blimey, that's amazing. Do you know, in nine hundred years of time and space I've never met anyone who wasn't important before."<em>

Antsy wriggled her hand in her mother's grip. She couldn't see anything where they were standing and wanted to join her friends on the fountain ledge for a better view.

"Please mama," she wheedled.

"Absolutely not. You'll get lost in this crowd." Crowd didn't quite describe the gathering. Every citizen in Atlantis had come for the execution. The elderly, who hadn't left their beds in years, were even being carried along on stretchers. Some were there for the history of the moment, to see the first foreigner in Atlantis, others had come as a means to escape the tedium of their daily lives, if only for an hour or so, and the majority had come for the free food. Antsy was too young to care about history or free things. She only wanted to see the stranger again. He'd been so funny the other day, trying to play tag with her and the other children, and she was sad, as sad as a child is capable of being, that the man was going to die. She didn't understand why. She didn't particularly care. Everyone was in a jolly mood, but not Antsy. She was young and she didn't think death was a very happy thing, especially not the death of such a funny man.

The conch shells trumpeted, signaling the arrival of the prisoners, and the crowd became a mob. In the madness, Antsy's mother let go of her daughter's hand. The girl was free. No one noticed her slip away. They were too occupied screaming nasty insults at the condemned to care about a little girl with sunshine yellow scales. Being small had its advantages. She burrowed through the hoard, avoiding the stamping boots and vulgar shouts, and reached the fountain.

Antsy, standing apart from her mates, could see over the sea of heads to where the mad man and the woman were tied to posts. It didn't look very comfortable. The man, though it was difficult to make out his expression from so far away, looked unhappy. Antsy figured she would too if she were about to be burned. But where's his friend? the girl wondered. Where's the strange woman? It didn't seem fair that he should die without his friend.

"How long d'you think it'll take for his skin to melt off?" a short boy nearby asked.

"He'll burn fast," another said. "He don't have no scales to protect him." Antsy didn't laugh. She didn't think it was funny at all.

"Shut up," she snapped, even though the boys were much bigger than her. They grabbed her arms and tossed her off of the fountain ledge. She landed hard, and not knowing what else to do, she cried. No one could hear her over the mob's roar. No one cared about a little girl when history was happening right before their eyes, so she cried for the funny man and because her skinned knee hurt.

"Are you alright?" Antsy felt a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and gasped. It was the funny man's friend. Antsy forgot about her hurt knee. She smiled up at the woman, happy that the man wouldn't die alone after all.

"I knew you'd come," the little girl said. Gatsby crouched down beside her to hear. There wasn't much time, but she couldn't ignore a sad child, history or not.

"Of course I did," Gatsby said. She'd snuck up from the tunnels once she'd heard the crowd. The best disguise, she figured, was a large gathering of angry people, and she'd been right. No one had seen her. No one cared about a sad, frightened woman.

"Are you going to save him?" Antsy whispered into her ear. Gatsby didn't know if she could. Who would listen to her, besides this child?

"I'm going to try." Gatsby took the girl's hand and helped her stand. It was now. Or it was never. She couldn't abide by never. "Go back to your parents, sweetheart." She gave the child a small push. Antsy didn't want to go. She didn't want to leave the woman alone. "Go," Gatsby repeated. "I'll be fine," she lied. Believing what she was told, Antsy ducked back into the crowd.

Alone, Gatsby didn't like it. She felt small. She wished she was the little girl and she could hold her mother's hand, but the conches sounded again to announce the emperor.

"Citizens of Atlantis!" A hush washed over the mob. Not even a baby cried. Gatsby held her breath. Antsy snuggled up between her parents. "We came to this place three trillion delta years ago," the emperor said, "to escape the tyranny of foreign invaders. Now they are here again. This man," he pointed to the Doctor, "has come to harm our children and to destroy our proud people!" There was a deafening cry of outrage. Gatsby clambered onto the fountain ledge, unnoticed.

"But he underestimated us. He thought we were weak. He thought he could feed us lies." Gatsby wasn't high enough. She waded through the fountain's pool, as she'd longed to do earlier, and climbed up the statue of Emperor Venerablesmite, the man who'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Like the Doctor always seems to be, Gatsby thought as she used the long dead emperor's nose as a foothold.

"Now we will show this foreigner that Atlantis is undefeatable. Atlantis will never be destroyed!" Gatsby found her balance on top of the statue's head, ignoring the crowd's cheers as the emperor signaled his guards to light the pyres. It was now. She'd left her fear below. She'd sent it away with the little girl. She met the Doctor's gaze and for once they weren't losing time. It stretched between them, on and on. Bound, gagged, helpless, the Doctor nodded. Gatsby spoke.

"STOP!" she screamed. "STOP!" She kept screaming as silence spread outwards around her and every head turned to the statue and the foreign girl. Antsy tugged at her mother's sleeve and pointed.

"Look mama!" she said. And the girl's mother did. Everyone did. Gatsby felt as though she were the one burning. She'd never been so noticed before, so terribly visible. She'd never been the moment in history that everyone had come to see and she didn't know what to say. The worst case of stage fright crashed over her. Oh sorry, my mistake, wrong room, she wanted to say, and disappear. Then she looked at the Doctor again. Only him. Her mad and wonderful Doctor.

"Guards!" the emperor bellowed. "Arrest her!"

"Wait!" The words were coming. Gatsby let them. Be the Doctor, she told herself. It's now. "If I have everyone's attention, there's something I'd like to say." The crowd stirred, unsure what to do, until someone shouted, "Burn her!" The other's took up the chant. It nearly unbalanced her.

"LISTEN TO ME!" Gatsby hadn't known she could be so loud. It was an order. The Atlantians always obeyed an order. They were quiet again, even the emperor. "Your city is in danger. There are…logstones…" No, that wasn't right. What had the Doctor called them? "Large stones, low stones…" She was doing it all wrong. They were beginning to laugh. Gatsby couldn't remember what the Doctor had said. She'd hardly understood him to begin with.

"More lies!" Emperor Reckonwith shouted. "Do you see? This fool child doesn't even know what she's saying."

"You're right," Gatsby called back to him. She didn't know the fancy, technical words. She wasn't the Doctor. She was Gatsby Goode from the 32nd Empire of England. She was the girl who had dreams and couldn't remember them. She'd seen the stars. She knew what a book was. She believed in the pretend things. She believed in the Doctor and that was enough.

"But I do know something," she said, her voice growing stronger. "That man you have tied up and gagged, that man is a hero and he's trying to save your lives! He's not the enemy. He's a friend to every lost and hopeless creature in this entire universe. He's mad and he's beautiful and if you kill him you've killed every good thing in this world."

"Nonsense," the emperor cried. "Don't listen to-"

"I AM TALKING!" Gatsby roared. They were listening. "I'm not from here, yes, but I know that you're not so different from me. You want to live. Well, if you don't let that man go, then I can promise that you won't succeed in that. Atlantis will be destroyed. You must return to the Above Lands." The crowd gasped. Gatsby held up her hands to hush them.

"Your emperor would rather see you die than admit that he's wrong, but you have a choice! You can save yourselves and move the city before it's too late. You can live, if you just…if you…trust me." She looked out at them, hoping she'd said enough. Alone in the crowd, Antsy clapped until her mother grabbed her hands again. It was a minute that felt like five hundred years later before Emperor Reckonwith laughed.

"Trust you? Why should we?"

"Because…" Gatsby was losing them. No one ever asked the Doctor why they should trust him, then again she wasn't him. Her hopes began to wither.

"Because you gave a speech? Well done, very moving." The emperor clapped. A few members of the crowd chuckled. "You're just a silly child. I am the emperor of Atlantis! Tell me Atlantians," he turned to his people. "Who will you trust, me or this ridiculous girl?" And the crowd turned their backs on Gatsby Goode. They hailed their emperor. "Burn them," they cheered. "Kill the foreigners!"

Gatsby had no words left. She couldn't bring herself to look at the Doctor now. She'd failed. They would all die because she was no one, a silly child.

"Please," Gatsby begged, but no one heard her. She was invisible again, except to the guards who'd finally reached the fountain to arrest her. "I'm sorry, Doctor," she whispered. Impossibly, as though he'd heard her when no one else cared to listen, the Doctor winked at her. He smiled through his gag, but Gatsby didn't see. She was distracted by the tremor.

Atlantis shook. The crowd screamed. Antsy's mother wrapped her arms around her daughter to protect her from the falling rubble as the beautiful crystal buildings broke apart. No one noticed Gatsby Goode falling. No one notices a silly child during the destruction of history, except for the Doctor.

* * *

><p><em>The people who dream. The people who dream.<em> The funny man held her hand. She wasn't afraid, not yet, although she knew she should be. He wouldn't tell her his name, but she'd gone with him anyways. He'd said it was very important that she did. He'd said that the universe depended on her. She was just a little girl. She didn't know what the universe was, but the man had told a joke that'd she'd thought was very funny.

"The patient said doctor, doctor, I feel like I'm a pair of curtains. And do you know what he doctor said?" She'd said no. "Pull yourself together." She'd laughed and when he held out his hand to take her away, she'd gone with him in the hopes that he had more jokes…

"Gatsby Goode, it's time for you to wake up now." Gatsby didn't want to. She was dreaming. At least she had been.

"Go away," she muttered, swatting at whoever was poking her. "I feel like a pair of curtains."

"Are you sure she didn't hit her head a little too hard?" a woman asked. Gatsby recognized her voice. It was Berly.

"She's fine. Don't you think? Of course she's fine," a man said. Gatsby recognized that voice too. It was her favorite voice.

"Doctor?" she groaned, opening her eyes a crack. There he was, his face far too close to hers, and his eyes warm with concern.

"You're alive?" She opened her eyes more. Her head hurt. Why did her head hurt?

"And apparently you're a pair of curtains." The Doctor helped her sit up. Gatsby dug her fingers into the grass as the world spun. Her brain sloshed around in her skull, aching terribly. She rubbed the tender spot under her hair and felt a lump the size of a third world country. The sunlight was too bright. Wait, the sunlight? The grass?

"We're on land!" Gatsby cried. Her surroundings were becoming clearer. Atlantis, the spectacular city, surrounded them in rubble. The fishy citizens were at a standstill. They looked as shocked as Gatsby felt. None of them had ever seen the Above Lands. None of them had felt that peculiar wind beat against their scales. They wandered through the tall grasses, stunned and blinking against the light.

"Good, now how many fingers am I holding up?" The Doctor pulled her attention back to him.

"Three, but-"

"Two plus two is?"

"Four."

"The speed of light from the earth to the sun is?"

"150 million kilometers, but Doctor-"

"Didn't think you'd know the answer to that one," the Doctor admitted. Before he could ask another question, Gatsby blurted out one of her own.

"Would you please shut up and tell me what happened?"

"You hit your head."

"Yeah, I guessed that much," she grumbled. "But how did we get here?"

"After the tremors started the citizens panicked," Berly explained. "They believed you, Gatsby. You did it!"

"Of course she did it." The Doctor grinned. He thumped her on the back, which sent a shot of pain from her toes to the roots of her tangled hair. "Oops, sorry."

"So you convinced them to move the city?"

"No, you convinced them," the Doctor said. "We just took the emperor's ring, did a bit of running, some tweaking, and here we are."

"Just like that?" Gatsby was amazed that it had been so easy. Judging by the Doctor's and Berly's shared grimaces, it hadn't been.

"Well, the emperor put up a fuss," Berly admitted. "He, erm, decided to stay behind." The Doctor turned his face away. He hadn't been able to save everyone. Gatsby, understanding, took his hand and held it tightly.

"It was his choice," she said.

"That doesn't make it any less of a loss."

"Look at me," Gatsby ordered. Reluctantly, he did. She saw the pain in his eyes. The emperor had been an awful being. He'd tried, and nearly succeeded, to kill them all. Yet still the Doctor felt guilty. It's what made him so absolutely wonderful.

"You did everything you could," she said softly. "You saved Atlantis. Over all, I'd say it was a pretty good day."

"We saved the city." The Doctor's smile returned bit by bit. He lifted her to her feet and wrapped his arm around her waist when she stumbled, still sore from her fall. "Come on, you have to see this," he said. Berly stayed behind as the Doctor led her away.

"How did I survive?" Gatsby wondered out loud.

"The water was deep enough. You're lucky."

"I don't feel lucky." That wasn't entirely true. They were alive. Atlantis was safe. She had the Doctor again. All things considered, Gatsby had to admit that despite a sore head and a few dozen bruises, she was pretty lucky.

The Doctor stopped. They stood at the edge of a steep cliff. Gatsby gasped. The ocean was gone, sucked away by the vortex, and all that remained was a hole, a blank space in the world.

"The vortex? What happened to it?" she asked, staring out into the emptiness.

"That's the thing about vortexes. They get greedy. They gorge themselves to death."

"It's gone."

"Gone," the Doctor affirmed. "Do you really think I'm a hero?" he asked, smirking. Gatsby elbowed him in the ribs.

"I was exaggerating."

"Sure you were."

"You're insufferable, arrogant-"

"Mad and beautiful and everything good in the world," he mimicked her words perfectly.

"Idiot," Gatsby finished.

Linking her arm through his, they left the hole in the world and returned to the shell-shocked Atlantians. Berly was already barking orders. Someone had to take control of the situation. It was a new start. It was frightening and too much, but Gatsby believed that the citizens of Atlantis would be alright.

"Time to go?" she asked.

"One thing first." They approached Berly. She stopped yelling commands.

"Your blue box is waiting," she said, pointing a few feet away. "I figured you had another civilization to save and would want to be off in a hurry."

"It's a big universe. Lots to do," the Doctor agreed. He reached into one of his pockets and pulled out the emperor's ring. The pearly crystal nestled in the band gleamed, the last shred of Atlantis as it once was. "I think this should be yours now," the Doctor said, passing the ring to Berly. She stared at it, her turquoise gills darkening in a blush.

"You'll take care of them?" Gatsby asked. Just two days ago Berly had been an unimportant guard on late night patrol duty. She clutched the emperor's ring and looked at her people. She didn't know how to be an emperor. She didn't know what would happen next. The only thing she knew, as she watched them begin to pick themselves up and take in their new home, was that she loved them.

"Yes," Berly answered. "I'll take care of them." She threw the emperor's ring to the ground and gave it one good stomp. The last Atlantian crystal split. A fresh start indeed. "But I think I'll try out that democracy thing you told me about," she said, smiling. "I've had enough of emperors." Berly was already planning to have a new statue built; a statue of the strange man and his equally strange friend.

The Doctor held open the Tardis doors, but Gatsby turned back one last time to say "Good luck". Her eye caught a silver scaled woman standing at the cliff's edge. O'Problem Pealot raised her hand in a farewell wave. Gatsby looked away and hurried into the blue box. The people who dream, she remembered the old woman saying. A man holding her hand…

The Doctor closed the door on Atlantis, on O'Problem Pealot and her fortune tellings, but he couldn't close the door on Gatsby's feeling that there was something very important that she couldn't quite remember. Something about time and dreams and a little girl who liked jokes. Something that she couldn't piece together. Something that frightened her.

"Alright?" the Doctor asked, as he started up the Tardis. There was a groan or a gasp as the blue box came to life.

"Fine." Gatsby shook her head to clear away the thoughts just out of her grasp. "Everything's fine." So it was for the time being. She had the Doctor and the blue box and the all of the universe to see. Dreams couldn't be important compared to all of that. Oh, but Gatsby Goode didn't know just how wrong she was.


	16. Fifteen: Boring Human Lives

__**Disclaimer:** You already know, I don't own Doctor Who.

**Author's Note: **Bringing in some beloved characters. Read, REVIEW, and hopefully enjoy :)

* * *

><p><em>"Nothing is ever forgotten, not completely. If something is remembered it can come back."<em>

Gatsby was curled up in her favorite magenta, plushy arm chair with a book cradled in her hands. She'd finished "The Great Gatsby" sometime in between their visit to Oog-a-boo, where the Doctor had taken her to the dance he'd promised her when she'd first agreed to travel with him, and rescuing the crew of a meteor requisition team whose ship had been locked in a nasty gravity field. Finally too exhausted for another adventure, Gatsby had persuaded the Doctor to take a break. She was only human, and though the Doctor was already restless after just two days, she was content to lock herself up in the Tardis library. She'd found that she could still explore magnificent worlds while sitting down with a nice cup of hot chocolate, through the thousands of books. She was engrossed in "Pride and Prejudice" when the Doctor pranced into the room, a towel wrapped around his head and his swim trunks dripping water.

"Nice swim?" Gatsby asked without looking up from her book. Mr. Darcy was in the midst of declaring his love for Elizabeth Bennet for the second time. She'd learned quite a bit about love in the past few chapters and was beginning to believe that it wasn't as awful as everyone in the 32nd British Empire claimed it was.

"Boring," the Doctor moaned. "My swim was perfectly boring." He leaned over Gatsby's chair to see what she was reading and humphed. "Pride and Prejudice", not one of his favorites, too happily ever after, too predictable. He stole the book from Gatsby's hands and skipped across the room.

"My affections and wishes," he read out loud, dancing away as Gatsby made a lunge to retrieve her book, "are unchanged, but one word from you will silence me on the matter forever."

"Doctor, give that back!" He tossed the book back into her arms.

"He proposes. She says yes. Everyone is happy, yada yada."

"Thank you for ruining the ending." Gatsby snapped the book closed and fell back into her chair. She knew she wouldn't be able to read now, not with him in the room.

"Don't blame me. The ending's rubbish anyways." He unwrapped the towel from around his head and shook out his still damp hair. Gatsby, though irritated at having been disrupted, couldn't help laughing at how silly he looked with his hair standing up in all directions.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked before she could stop herself. It was too personal of a question, but there was so much she didn't know about him. They'd been travelling together for a month, give or take a few thousand years, and every time she thought she was beginning to understand him he did something that made her realize that he was still a stranger.

"Have I ever been in love?" The Doctor stopped pacing. "A few dozen times. I think I married Queen Elizabeth the first, but don't tell anyone, it'd ruin her image."

"I'm serious," Gatsby said, not amused.

"Have you ever been in love?"

"No," she admitted. "It's not really allowed back home."

"Good! Love's stupid, completely overrated. Who needs it anyways?"

"It doesn't seem so bad."

"Not in books." The Doctor snatched "Pride and Prejudice" away again and flipped through the pages. "It's all pretty in books. Why do you want to know if I've been in love anyways? Jealous?" He winked at her. Gatsby rolled her eyes, but she couldn't deny that in some secret part of her she was. She couldn't believe that in his 910 years he'd never fallen in love.

"What about your other companions?" She'd noticed that when he mentioned them there was always a soft gleam in his eyes. Jealous, yes, she was jealous of that gleam. She didn't know what love looked like. She only knew how it sounded on a page. "What about Rose?" Gatsby continued. "She seems to be your favorite."

"I don't have favorites," he said quickly, too quickly. His voice softened when he continued. "Books only tell you part of the story. Like this one." He held up "Pride and Prejudice". "It doesn't say anything about what happens after they're married. It doesn't mention how she always burns the toast and he doesn't tell her she's beautiful often enough."

"That wouldn't be very interesting," Gatsby pointed out.

"But it's the best part! Love is all about the burnt toast!"

"How do you know if you've never been in love then?"

"Because…because I know everything."

"Do not," she argued.

"Do to!"

"Do not!"

"Fine, if you don't believe me, I'll show you what love is really like." Without explaining further, something that Gatsby was becoming used to, he rushed out of the library. Leaving Mr. Darcy behind, she followed him into the console room. The Doctor was already pulling levers, punching buttons and muttering to himself. Gatsby made herself comfortable on the railing. She kicked her feet against the bars, accepting that their vacation was over.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"To meet some old friends of mine." The Tardis groaned. It shook a bit, and then there was the screeching of the brakes. The Doctor was opening the doors before he realized Gatsby wasn't behind him. She was standing by the console panel, fiddling nervously with the hem of her sweater.

"You just wanted an excuse to go somewhere," she accused.

"What? No, this is part of your education. Besides I thought you wanted to meet some of my companions." Gatsby had. Well, she did, but now that they were there she wasn't so sure. She'd heard so much about them all and she worried that she didn't live up to them.

"What if they don't like me?" she muttered.

"Don't be stupid, Goode, they'll like you." Gatsby wasn't convinced, but she didn't want to be called stupid again, so with a sigh, she joined him.

"Alright," she said. "Who are we visiting?" He grinned and threw open the doors.

* * *

><p>Amelia Pond had burnt the toast again. She just couldn't get the hang of breakfast. Come to think of it, she'd never really mastered being a wife. Tossing the charred slices of bread into the bin, she decided an apple would suffice. There was some leftover cake from the baby shower too. She cut herself a piece, poured a glass of milk, and stood in the open doorway, balancing the plate on her stomach. She felt particularly large today and Rory, having left for work before she woke up, wasn't around to tell her that she was beautiful. So she had to make do with her cake. It was past breakfast anyways, thankfully.<p>

Mrs. Next Door Neighbor waved as she jogged past. Not an ounce of fat on her, Amy thought to herself as she chewed a mouthful of chocolate cake. She hated Mrs. Next Door Neighbor. She hated all of the neighbors. They were too perfect, too positively normal, but Rory liked it here. He liked the freshly mown lawns, though theirs was in need of a trim, and the chirping birds that woke Amy up every morning when all she wanted to do was sleep until dinner. "You just have to get used to it. Not everyone's travelled the universe," he told her nearly every day. Amy had tried. She'd given it her best effort, for his sake, but when Rory wasn't around she let herself wallow. She snuck out when he was sleeping to look up at the stars and wonder where the Doctor was and what he was doing. Not everyone had travelled the universe, but Amy Pond had, and it wasn't the sort of thing you just forgot.

It had been her decision to leave the Doctor and settle down. She didn't regret it, but sometimes, a good deal of the time, she missed it. She wasn't miserable. In fact, she was very happy with her life. She had Rory and there'd be the baby soon. The nursery was almost finished, yellow elephants and everything. Amy rubbed her bulging stomach. Rory was over the moon excited, and she was too. She didn't tell him how frightened she was though. Really she couldn't even make toast! How could she be a mother? She'd saved the universe countless times, but raising a child was something she wasn't sure she could handle. Lately she'd missed the Doctor more than ever, even if he knew less about children than she did. She knew that once this baby decided to pop on out, her adventure days were officially over and done with. Amy wasn't ready. She loved Rory, without a doubt, and she loved the baby, but she'd never been the type to live in a pretty neighborhood with chirping birds.

"If only I could see you one more time," Amy muttered. An answer to her prayers, she heard it, that familiar sound she loved and missed more than anything else in the world. The unfinished cake splattered onto the porch. The plate shattered. Amy didn't care. She gaped at the blue box that had just materialized in their front yard. The doors swung open and there he was. Amy pinched herself. This was surely a dream! But no, he was grinning at her. He was standing there in the crushed azaleas. Her Doctor.

"Amelia Pond, the girl who waited," the Doctor said.

"And the man who made her wait." She folded her arms over her stomach. Until he'd showed back up, she hadn't realized that she'd never stopped waiting. "Why are you wearing swim trunks?" The doctor looked down, just realizing he'd forgotten to change.

"I was swimming. I thought that'd be obvious."

Waddling a few steps forward to either hug him or slap him, she noticed the girl lingering just behind the Doctor, peering over his shoulder nervously. Amy stopped. So she'd been replaced. She should have known it would happen. She did know it would happen! It didn't soften the blow. Selfishly, Amy had hoped that he'd be alone. She was, what? Jealous, yes, that was the word.

"I'd like you to meet someone." The Doctor nudged the girl into the open. "Amelia Pond, this is Gatsby Goode." Gatsby, what an odd name. The girl gave a small wave.

"I've heard a lot about you," she said, her voice timid. Amy felt a bit better. At least the Doctor hadn't forgotten her. She imagined the stories he'd told this new girl, wonderful stories about her, and decided she couldn't be too offended. It was my decision to leave, she reminded herself.

"If he told you about that incident on the moon, don't believe it." Amy smiled and approached them.

"What incident?" The girl looked up at the Doctor, who was rocking back and forth, his hands folded behind him.

"Oh, nothing important," he said. "Aren't you going to offer us some breakfast? That's what you do now, right, play house?" Amy slapped him, but laughed as she led them across the yard to the house. She'd missed him terribly, even if she hated him sometimes. She'd forgotten how infuriating he could be. That's the funny thing about people you miss. It's easy to forget that they aren't perfect.

"How long have you been travelling with the Doctor?" Amy asked as she set about making an actual breakfast. The Doctor had already made himself at home, his feet kicked up on the kitchen table. Gatsby, however, had only come just a foot or two into the room.

"About a month," she answered. So this was Amy Pond, the Amy Pond, the Doctor's most recent companion. He hadn't told her how pretty she was. Gatsby tugged at her baggy sweater self-consciously.

"Let me guess, he saved your life first and then asked you to fly away with him?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"You're so predictable," Amy chuckled, whacking the Doctor's legs with a wooden spoon as she passed him.

"And you've gotten fat."

"Doctor!" Gatsby gasped.

"I'm pregnant, you idiot."

"Well, that doesn't give you an excuse to get so large." Amy ignored him. If anyone else in the world, the universe, had called her fat she would have gutted them, but the Doctor had a knack for getting away with things.

"What have you two been up to then?"

"Same old stuff, saving the universe from certain destruction," the Doctor said.

"Still modest, isn't he?" Gatsby sniggered into her elbow. She envied the easy way the two of them spoke to each other.

"Where's Rory the Roman?" The Doctor had begun to pick through their mail lying on the table. Bills, bills, junk, charity, more bills, boring human life stuff.

"The hospital cleaning bedpans."

"Rory the Nurse then," the Doctor teased. Amy slammed a bowl of thick custard in front of him and a plate of fish fingers.

"He's in school," Amy said defensively. "He'll be a doctor before the year's over." The Doctor mumbled something incomprehensible through a mouthful of custard. Amy rolled her eyes. Her Doctor hadn't changed that much. She turned her attention to the girl. She was pretty in a quiet, freckled way, and she seemed too timid to be with the Doctor.

"So where did he abduct you from?"

"I don't abduct people," the Doctor protested. "Why does everyone say that?" Neither of the women acknowledged him.

"London, but I guess it's London in your future."

"Really?" Amy was intrigued.

"Don't tell her anything," the Doctor warned Gatsby.

"Come on, it's not like I haven't been to the future," Amy whined. "What's the harm?"

"No harm, I just want to be mean."

"It's not very interesting," Gatsby confessed.

"It has to be more interesting than this place."

"Amy Pond in a cozy, little neighborhood," the Doctor said. "You left the Tardis for this?"

"We're very happy, thank you," she snapped. It wasn't a lie. It wasn't exactly the truth either.

"There you go, Gatsby. This is what marriage really is. Boring." Gatsby wasn't going to agree with him just yet. She hadn't been here long enough to decide.

"Admit it, you miss me."

"Not at all." Amy knew it wasn't a convincing answer. "Of course I miss you, idiot. Now go away and let me and your new friend talk about you in private." She pulled him out of his chair and shoved him towards the living room.

"Don't you want to talk to me?" The Doctor pouted.

"Not really." Amy closed the door in his face. Of course she wanted to talk to him. She wanted to hear about every adventure he'd had since she'd left, but that could take years and she needed to sum up his new companion first. With the Doctor out of the room, Gatsby retreated back into herself. She knew she should offer to help Amy clear away the dishes. It was the polite thing to do, but she couldn't quite make herself speak.

"He's insane," Amy said as she dumped the custard bowl into the sink. "Have you fallen in love with him yet?"

"What? No!" Gatsby blurted, blushing. Adorable, Amy thought, the girl's in denial.

"Everyone does. He's a charming, sexy mad man."

"I…we're…it's not like that." Gatsby was suddenly very warm. She tugged at her collar. Amy gave her a knowing look. The poor girl, another of the Doctor's victims, and he was probably oblivious just as he always was. He never did realize his own appeal.

"Do you regret leaving?" Gatsby asked, desperately wanting to change the subject. Amy looked out of the window at her little, boring neighborhood and pondered the girl's question.

"Yes," she admitted. "And no. It's all fun at first, but you get tired after a while. It was time for me to go." Gatsby couldn't imagine it ever being her time to go. Sure, she did get tired, but it was all so wonderful. How could anyone give that up?

The two women stared at each other; past and present, old and new. Was this girl good enough for her Doctor? Amy wondered. He needed someone to keep him from going too far. He needed someone to remind him of all the things he'd forgotten after his planet had been destroyed; like how to love, laugh, and other boring human life things. All Amy needed was to know if this girl could do all of that. Was she strong enough for the Doctor? Watching the girl rub her heels into the floor, Amy wasn't sure.

"You're not the first," Amy said. "You won't be the last." It was harsh and it was true. Gatsby looked up from her feet. Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

"I won't leave him," she snapped. "He's a wreck without someone. I don't know much about him, but I know he's lonely. You abandoned him. Maybe I won't be the last, but the only way I'll ever leave him…well, I'd have to die." Amy smiled, even though the words stung. Yes, she'd abandoned the Doctor. He didn't blame her for it and he never would. It wasn't the sort of man he was, but Amy blamed herself enough for the both of them. She'd chosen Rory. She loved Rory more than anything else, more than every star the Doctor had shown her, more than the Doctor himself. But…

"I still care for him," Amy said quietly. She sat down. "He's my best friend, that big lummox." Gatsby softened. She approached the other woman, the Doctor's other woman, and took her hand.

"I believe you," she said. An unspoken agreement passed between them. Amy squeezed the girl's hand, giving away her Doctor, and Gatsby accepted the gift, the burden. She'll do just fine, Amy admitted to herself. She'll take care of him. He'll take care of her. It wasn't so much the lost adventures that kept Amy Pond awake at night. It was the not knowing that he would be alright, and knowing that he had someone put her at ease.

"So tell me everything." Amy let go of the girl's hand. "How did you meet? Where has he taken you?" The two women, the Doctor's women, gradually opened up to one another. They swapped their stories. Amy told her about the vampires in Venice, though it wasn't exactly the same as how the Doctor had told it. Gatsby assumed he'd made himself seem a bit more impressive than he'd actually been.

It was nice to have someone other than the Doctor to talk to about everything that had happened since she'd left home, someone else who understood. She found that she could tell Amy things that she didn't dare mention to the Doctor; how frightened she was sometimes, how she absolutely wanted to kill him just about every ten minutes, how he forgot that she was only human. She told her about her home in the 32nd British Empire.

"It sounds terrible," Amy exclaimed. "I'm glad I'll be dead before England becomes like that."

"Lucky you," Gatsby grumbled.

"At least you have the Doctor now. He's an idiot, but he does know how to show a girl a good time. Do you miss your parents?"

"Not really," Gatsby confessed. "I haven't had much time to. He never stops does he? We took a two day vacation from saving the universe and he nearly went mad with boredom. Well, madder than usual," she amended. They both laughed. Amy told her about the time the Doctor had pretended to be a normal human while Amy was stuck in the Tardis.

"He actually played football!" Amy said, clutching her side. She hadn't laughed this much in ages. "Just picture that."

"Was he any good?"

"He's good at everything. Except-"

"Modesty?" Gatsby suggested. This sent them into another round of giggles. They were both red in the face when Rory burst into the room, out of breath and crazed. He hardly noticed Gatsby sitting across the table from his wife.

"The Tardis," he stammered, pointing through the window. "In the yard." Amy heaved herself to her feet, rolled her eyes for Gatsby's benefit, and waddled to her befuddled husband. She kissed his cheek, but Rory was in shock. Complete and utter shock.

"Why are you home so early?" Amy asked, noticing the clock. It was only half past eleven. Before Rory could answer, the Doctor popped his head through the kitchen door.

"Rory the Roman!" he cried.

"YOU!" Rory accused, now pointing at the Doctor. "I knew it was you! Something always goes wrong when you're around!"

"What are you talking about?" Amy demanded. Rory didn't answer. He was too busy gaping at the Doctor.

"I think he means the dinosaurs.

"Dinosaurs?" Gatsby and Amy said, rounding on the Doctor, who looked far too pleased.

"It's all over the news," he explained.

"Bloody of course it is!" Rory roared. He collapsed into the nearest chair and muttered something that none of them could make out, though Gatsby distinctly heard the words "fool" and "should have known".

"Dinosaurs?" Gatsby repeated.

"A T-Rex!" Rory declared. "Just crashed its way through Parliament."

"And you knew?" Amy demanded, glaring at the Doctor. "Why didn't you tell us?" She was rather formidable with her hands on her hips. The Doctor just shrugged.

"You didn't want to talk to me," he said simply.

"Dinosaurs," Gatsby said again. It was the only word she could remember.

"You're sure?" Amy asked, resting her hands on her husband's shoulders.

"Just look out the window," Rory ordered. The two women exchanged glances before going to the window. The perfectly boring neighborhood wasn't quite as boring now. Mrs. Next Door neighbor didn't wave this time. Perhaps she was too preoccupied by the great, leathery bird diving for her. There were more circling the roofs of the identical, white-shuddered houses. At least twelve pterodactyls! They'd ruined Mrs. Next Door neighbor's rose beds.

"Dinosaurs," Gatsby said, turning to the Doctor. Well, he wouldn't be bored anymore.

"Dinosaurs," he repeated, beaming at her and Amy.

"Dinosaurs." Amy couldn't help but grin. So there'd be one more adventure after all.

"Dinosaurs." And Rory slid out of his chair, having fainted.


	17. Sixteen: Alien on a Milk Carton

__Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.

Author's Note: Next chapter, Gatsby meets the interesting person from her future. Who could it be? Read, review, hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p><em>"Never ignore coincidence. Unless, of course, you're busy. In which case, always ignore coincidence."<em>

The pterodactyls had migrated to a new neighborhood. Gatsby watched the occupants of the trim, little houses step blinking into their yards and estimate the damage. "The string beans are ruined," Mrs. Next Door Neighbor sobbed. Of all the things to worry about, beans didn't seem very important. Parliament building was in shambles. The Queen, God save her, had been air-lifted to the countryside, where the dinosaur infection hadn't spread. The casualties were low, for the time being, but the city was in an uproar. As was expected. No one knew what to think of the dinosaurs. Where had they come from? How was it possible? Every paleontologist in Britain had been summoned, but they were just as flummoxed as everyone else. They were accustomed to studying dead things, not hungry and rampaging, all too alive prehistoric lizards.

"Remain calm and stay indoors until the crisis is averted." Every news station was broadcasting the same advice. The Doctor flipped through the channels too fast for Gatsby to catch much, so she'd given up and moved to the window. It was just common sense to stay indoors, which meant that the Doctor was going to do the exact opposite. They were going dinosaur hunting. Well, they would be as soon as Rory was ready to leave.

"I am not staying here!" There was a clatter in the kitchen. Gatsby assumed Amy had thrown another plate.

"Love, be reasonable. You're seven months pregnant," Rory pleaded. More breaking china. They'd be eating off of paper plates for the next few weeks. The argument had been raging for the better part of an hour. No one was winning. Gatsby left her place at the window and leaned over the back of the couch, her elbow bumping into the Doctor's shoulder. A loud thump from the next room made her wince.

"Do you still think love is a good thing?" the Doctor asked. He didn't take his eyes off of the flashing television screen. Gatsby didn't answer. She'd never seen a row like the one between Amy and Rory. Her parents, as far as she knew, had never fought. They didn't speak enough to disagree.

"I'm pregnant!" Amy screeched. "Not crippled!"

"You'll slow us down, sweetheart."

"SLOW YOU DOWN? ARE YOU SAYING I'M FAT?"

"No, no, of course not. It's just too dangerous."

The Doctor turned off the telly. He'd seen enough. Everyone was in a panic, blah blah, and no one knew what to do. Humans, always so helpless. Though, glancing at Gatsby, perhaps not all of them.

"I'm sorry our vacation was cut short," he said, not sorry in the least. She shrugged. Oh well. Rory had been right. Whenever the Doctor was around, something always went wrong.

"You're a magnet for trouble, aren't you?" she chuckled. "Can't you go anywhere without something dangerous happening?"

"Where's the fun in that?" He wasn't teasing, not entirely. He actually enjoyed this sort of thing. When you've lived for 910 years, life can be boring. The Doctor had done all of the usual things people do. Well, usual things for a Time Lord. He'd read all of the books, dabbled in a career of metaphysics and even given being grown up a try, but those weren't the sort of things you could do forever. Danger, adventure, now that was something to keep you entertained. It was a perilous life. It was fun, and Gatsby understood.

"That's enough," Rory yelled. He'd never raised his voice to his wife before. Stunned, Amy was finally silenced. "You're staying here." The kitchen door slammed and Rory marched into the living room. He was red in the face. Anger made him look rather sillier than he already did. He grimaced at the sound of another dish breaking against the door. Oh, he loved Amy, but she was the embodiment of fire and brimstone. Hell hath no fury like his wife.

"Sorry 'bout that," he muttered. "Ready?" The Doctor leapt to his feet. He'd been ready for a long time. Leaving Amy to tear the house apart board by board, the trio set out through the back door to avoid being caught in her storm. They could hear her raging even as they rounded the corner.

"Why didn't you stay with her?" Gatsby asked. It was clear Rory didn't want to go dinosaur hunting. He'd have been much happier reading the funnies in the paper with a nice glass of lemonade. But…

"London's in danger, which means Amy's in danger." It was the most basic of reasons. Rory cared for the Doctor, in a way. He hadn't minded their adventures together, but he'd closed the door on that part of his life. He should have known it wouldn't be so easy.

"I'm not doing this for you." Rory wanted to make that perfectly clear.

"I know," the Doctor said.

"You couldn't just leave us alone, could you?" No, of course he couldn't let them have a normal life. In Rory's opinion, this was the Doctor's fault, though he knew it really wasn't. He'd travelled in the Tardis long enough to realize that the Doctor didn't exactly make trouble. It just had an uncanny knack for showing up where he did. Rory wanted someone to blame.

"Is she always so…so volatile?" Gatsby asked.

"Yes," Rory and the Doctor answered. They walked on in silence. Rory didn't feel up to talking. He hated leaving Amy in the state she was in. He hated leaving her at all. Gatsby was caught up in thoughts of love and how different marriage in this century was from marriage where she was from or in books. The Doctor had a million things to say, but knew that neither of his companions were in the mood to listen, so for once he decided to hold his tongue.

For twenty minutes they walked without saying a word, until they reached the city. A torn out tabloid page blew across the deserted street. Gatsby stopped moving. So this was London as it once was. There were posters and advertisements on every pole. A double decker was abandoned in the middle of the road, the roof having been torn off by some creature or another, but the blown up image of a lady in a bubble bath flashing on the side had been untouched. Even though it was quiet now, Gatsby thought she could hear the echo of how it usually was; loud, busy and crowded. There were empty cars, stuck in traffic, with no one to drive them. There was a stroller turned upside down and a forgotten basket of half-eaten fish and chips on a bus bench. Over the building tops she saw the London Eye and felt relieved that some part of her London was still here, despite the oddity of it having become a nest for a flock of pterodactyls. Oh, and there was Big Ben! The original, she supposed, and not the twelfth model that she was acquainted with. This London wasn't terribly different from hers. It was brighter, bolder, but familiar compared to everywhere else she'd been with the Doctor. It was home, infested with dinosaurs and a few decades younger, but home nonetheless.

"Gatsby?" The Doctor and Rory had stopped a few paces ahead, realizing that she was no longer with them. She blinked a few times, adjusting to the distant familiarity of the city.

"It's strange," she said.

"Well yeah, there are dinosaurs loose in the city." Rory stated the obvious.

"Not that. It's strange being here in this time. I feel like I've gotten lost in a history lesson, but they never taught us anything about the Great Dinosaur Invasion. Don't you think that's kind of important?"

"It might not have happened yet," the Doctor said, back tracking towards her.

"But this is my past, right? How could it not have happened?"

"Time doesn't follow the rules. It's not a straight line. It's a great, big, messy knot. Your past can change just as much as your future." Gatsby scrunched up her nose, concentrating on the knot of time. She didn't understand. She probably never would. How can your past change? Things that happen…happened. Didn't they? She looked up at the Doctor, doe-eyed and confused.

"You can worry about the complexities of time or you can help me wrangle up a dinosaur," he said, lassoing the air. "Trust me, the second option will be much more fun." Rory scoffed behind them. Fun wasn't what he had in mind.

"Well?" the Doctor asked. "The beasties are waiting." But the beasties weren't exactly waiting.

"Um Doctor, we might have a problem." Rory pointed to the end of the street. Gatsby and the Doctor turned to look. All thoughts of time's oddities were swept clean from their mind, replaced by the two creatures that had just rounded the corner. About six feet in length with necks too long for their bodies, they stared at the Doctor and his companions, sizing them up.

"Do you think they're friendly?" Gatsby whispered. He didn't need to answer. The dinosaurs screeched, revealing rows of jagged, sharp teeth. They seemed to have made up their minds about the humans. They were running down the street on their hind legs.

"I think it's dinner time," the Doctor said.

"I think it's time to run," Rory snapped. The creatures were fast. Incredibly fast. Gatsby watched, horrified and fascinated, as one of the leapt over a taxi cab.

"Too late for running." The Doctor, of course, didn't seem worried in the least. The creatures were headed straight for them; an all you could eat buffet.

"Then what do we do?" Rory howled. If he was eaten by dinosaurs, he knew Amy would never forgive him. Carnivorous beasts were the least of his worries. Compared to the wrath of his wife, they were like harmless guinea pigs. The dinosaurs were only a few feet away.

"Now's a good time to do something brilliant," Gatsby cried.

"Say please."

"DOCTOR!" Gatsby and Rory screamed.

"What was that?"

"Please," Gatsby cried.

"Well, since you asked so nicely." The Doctor whipped out his sonic screwdriver. "I suggest you cover your ears." Gatsby and Rory clamped their hands against their ears. Rory pulled the girl behind an abandoned car as the Doctor pointed his screwdriver at the creatures. He waited until they were only leap away before flicking a switch. Gatsby held her breath, and then the most awful sound emitted from the screwdriver. She pressed her hands harder against her ears to keep out the shrill whistling noise. Still she felt like her brain was melting.

The dinosaurs froze. Their jaws stretched in wails of pain. They clawed at the air, their scaly bodies thrashing, and then the two creatures collapsed. The Doctor fiddled with his screwdriver and the sound ceased.

"Sonic blast," he cheered, grinning back at his two companions cowering behind the yellow mini cooper. "Works every time. Well, almost every time." Gatsby stepped out from behind their hiding place. The Doctor was already bending over one of the creatures, prodding it with his screwdriver. She crept towards him.

"Are they dead?"

"No." The doctor flipped up one of the dinosaur's eyelids and shined the light of his screwdriver into its blank, black eye. "They're unconscious."

"For how long?" Rory asked, joining them. It seemed like the most important question.

"Five minutes give or take." Five minutes wasn't very long at all, but it was all the Doctor needed. "What are you lovely things?" he murmured, patting the dinosaur's neck.

"They're dinosaurs," Gatsby stated. It seemed pretty obvious. She'd never seen a living one before, but she was willing to take an educated guess. After all, what else could they be?

"It's never what it looks like," the Doctor said, as he continued to poke the creature. Gatsby inched close enough to reach out and touch the unconscious carnivore. Its scales were smoother than she'd expected.

"Then what is it?" Rory demanded, staying a few feet back. He wanted to keep all of his limbs, thank you very much, and these things could wake up at any moment. The more he prodded the deeper the Doctor's scowl became. He beat the screwdriver against his leg and tried again only to get the same reading. It wasn't possible. He'd seen a million impossible things, but this was something not even he could believe.

"They're dinosaurs," he determined, standing up.

"But you just said-"

"I know what I said," the Doctor interrupted Rory's protest. "I was wrong. It happens." Gatsby had never heard him admit that he was wrong before.

"It's not alien then?" she asked.

"Nope. It's a real dinosaur. A troodon actually. From the late Cretaceous period. They're unusually smart. As smart as opossums."

"You're not supposed to pronounce the O," Gatsby corrected. The Doctor ignored her. Grammar was the last of his concerns at the moment.

"It doesn't make any sense," the Doctor grumbled, standing up. He'd run every test he could think of and then a few that he wasn't sure what they did. Every result came back the same. These weren't aliens. They weren't an ancient species of human, or even a future species for that matter.

"Of course it doesn't make any sense," Rory said, exasperated. "When does it ever make sense?"

"Always," the Doctor said. "You're just too dull to ever understand." Rory opened his mouth to argue, but the Doctor didn't give him time. "Why are they here? Why London? How did they get here?" His eyes darted back and forth from Gatsby to Rory, as though they had any idea. They just stared at him blankly.

"Could they be clones?" Gatsby suggested.

"Don't be absurd."

"There are dinosaurs loose in London and you're telling me not to be absurd," she snapped. She really hated when he couldn't figure out something. It always made him ornery. Before they could begin bickering, the troodon nearest them stirred. It snorted. Gatsby leapt back.

"I think it's waking up," Rory said, checking his watch. It'd been five minutes. The Doctor looked reluctant to leave. If he had just a little more time. If he could just double check, triple check, quadruple check. Gatsby grabbed his arm and shook her head, knowing what he was thinking.

"We're going," she said firmly. "You can do your pacing and muttering thing back at the house."

"But-" She glared at him.

"We'll leave without you," Gatsby threatened. Rory nodded his affirmation.

"Fine," the Doctor grumbled. The troodon's leg was twitching. It'd be awake any minute now and hungry. The Doctor looked back at the creatures one last time as Gatsby and Rory pulled him away. He didn't speak to either of them the entire way back to the Pond's home. He was stumped. Dinosaurs didn't just pop up in the 21st century. There had to be something more going on here. But what? That was the question. That was always the question. All across the universe beings from every planet and time had been wondering the same thing. But what?

Gatsby wasn't overly concerned. She knew the Doctor would figure it out. He always did, eventually. If anyone could answer the universal question, it was him. Dinosaurs, she thought to herself. She looked down at her hand._ I just touched a real dinosaur. I was almost eaten by a real dinosaur_. It didn't frighten her as much as it would have a month ago.

* * *

><p>The Doctor had paced through the living room for the last two hours. He wasn't any closer to understanding the dinosaur invasion and his mood was declining with every tick of the clock. Gatsby sat on the couch, content to watch the news on mute. Rory fiddled with anything in his reach; a coaster on the coffee table, the corner of a magazine, loose change from his pocket that he'd counted and recounted. None of them had dared to speak in the past hour. Every time they opened their mouths, the Doctor hushed them with a none to friendly "Shut up". Gatsby was beginning to the think that the troodons were much better company than him.<p>

Amy waddled into the room with a tray. She set it down on the coffee table and collapsed between her husband and the girl. Even walking from the kitchen to the living room was a challenge these days. Rory reached over absentmindedly and rubbed her belly. It was a sweet gesture. The sort of gesture that Gatsby had only ever read about.

"Lemonade?" Amy offered Gatsby a glass of some strange yellow liquid. She took a sip hesitantly. It was sweet, yet sour. The perfect blend of the two contrasting flavors.

"This is delicious," Gatsby said, licking her lips. "What did you call it?"

"Lemonade," Amy chuckled. "They don't have it where you're from?" Gatsby shook her head.

"You should try the cookies then." Rory held the plate of snicker doodles out to her. Gatsby was reaching for one when the Doctor suddenly growled, tugging at his hair. The plate of cookies slipped out of Rory's hands and spilled across the floor. Amy glared at them, dreading the thought of having to bend down and sweep up the mess.

"I can't think in here!" the Doctor exclaimed. He swatted at the air. "It's too…too boring!"

"Then go outside with the dinosaurs," Amy snapped. The Doctor spun around to face her. He caught a glimpse of the television screen over her shoulder. Without any warning, he leapt over the couch, squeezing in between Gatsby and Amy, and grabbed the remote. He turned up the volume, staring intently at the screen. The others looked as well. There was a picture of a young boy, not a day over eight years old, and perfectly nondescript, but the Doctor was pointing at him.

"Look!" he cried.

"What?" Amy and Gatsby said together. Unsure what they were supposed to be looking at. The Doctor turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

"If anyone has seen this boy, Lemmy Goode, please call the number at the bottom of the screen," the newscaster announced. The Doctor memorized the number and jumped to his feet. He beamed at the three of them.

"We have to find Lemmy Goode," he declared.

"Excuse me?" Rory gaped up at the mad man. "Shouldn't we be focusing on the dinosaurs, not some missing kid?"

"He's not a kid," the Doctor replied. He bent down and tapped Rory on the forehead. "Look closer." They all leaned forward, trying to find something unusual about the child in the picture. The Doctor was too impatient to give them a chance to figure it out for themselves. Humans could be so blind!

"He's an alien!" the Doctor asserted.

"He's finally cracked," Rory muttered, but Gatsby was willing to hear him out.

"How can you tell?" she asked. The Doctor crouched beside the television and pressed his palm against the screen.

"Because he's wearing a perception filter. A good one. I almost didn't spot it."

"Perception filter?"

"It's like a disguise," Amy explained.

"Then how can he see through it?" Gatsby squinted at the screen. The boy still looked like a normal boy to her.

"Because I know what to look for," the Doctor answered. He rounded on Amy. "Where's your phone?"

"In the kitchen, but Doctor, what does this-" The Doctor had already left the room. Amy and Rory exchanged glances. Same old Doctor. Always moving faster than everyone else. He was back in five minutes.

"I found where he lives." None of them moved. "Well, are you coming or not?"

"Explain what this boy, this alien, has to do with the dinosaurs first," Amy said. She wasn't going to stand up unless there was a really good reason to.

"Everything. Nothing. Who knows? But what are the odds that there'd be a missing alien kid and dinosaurs in the same place at the same time?" Gatsby had to admit that it was quite the coincidence. She stood, ready to follow him. Amy sighed and heaved herself up.

"Alright," she muttered. "We'll go, but we're driving."

"Driving?" The Doctor peered out of the window at the Pond's little car parked on the curb. Vehicles made him terribly nauseas. They were so cramped and slow. He had a much better idea.

"Or we could take the Tardis." He grinned at Amy and she grinned back. Rory groaned. Not the blue box again. He'd spent too much time in that thing, but Amy hadn't looked so excited about anything for months. She was waddling after the Doctor, moving faster than she had since she'd hit the fourth month of her pregnancy. Rory didn't have much of a choice. He trailed after his wife and the Doctor, bringing up the rear. Just like old times.

Alien children, dinosaurs and the blue box. Just when he'd finally thought he was out. He should have known that nothing was black and white when it came to the Doctor. Nothing was normal. Nothing made sense. The only thing he, or any of them, could do was go along with it and hope for the best.


	18. Seventeen: One and Not the Same

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.

Author's Note: Longest chapter to date! I hope it doesn't bore you. Or confuse you. Read, review (thank you to those who have) and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p>"<em>You see, people think of time as a strict progression of cause to effect, but from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint, it's more like a big ball of wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey stuff."<em>

Great and terrible things were happening all throughout time and space, as great and terrible things tend to do, without discrimination. These things were happening everywhere. The old woman was well acquainted with them. Many years ago she'd seen the stars. She'd run away from home to travel the universe with a strange, yet undeniably handsome, man. Oh, and she'd seen great things, terrible things. She'd lived in the heart of time, but that had been a very, very long time ago. She wasn't young anymore. She wasn't quite as impressionable as she'd been back then. All of the things that she'd seen had changed her, though for better or worse remained unclear. Sometimes she asked herself if she would do it all over again if given the chance. She would lay awake in bed all night and never come up with an answer. It didn't matter. Not really. She couldn't change what had happened. That was out of her hands now, but there was someone else who could rewrite her history. The old woman knew that your past was just as fragile as your future. Things that happened could be erased. Things that had never happened could be added to the story.

Great and terrible things were happening in the old woman's life again, and she knew what usually followed great and terrible things. He was coming back. She could feel it in her arthritic bones. This time she was ready. As ready as she ever could be. This time she was an old woman, not a young girl, and she knew so much more than she had all of those years ago.

The old woman was sitting on her son's bed. He'd been missing for two days and she was worried sick. It didn't matter that she already knew where he was. It didn't matter that she knew how everything would turn out. Her mother's heart ached for her boy. After all, things could change. She couldn't be sure that time would repeat itself. She couldn't be sure that what had happened would happen again. She'd done her best to recreate the events, but like the question she asked herself some nights, the outcome was now out of her hands. It was up to the man now. She'd done all that she could, even a bit more than that. All that was left to do was to wait. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she realized that the wait was almost over.

When the old woman stood her joints popped in protest. She was falling apart. Luckily this was her last great adventure. After this she could rest. She hobbled into the parlor to make sure that everything was in order; the napkins were folded correctly and the tea was steaming. She straightened the decorative pillows on the couch. She moved the antique lamp from the desk to the end table. She parted the curtains just an inch to let in a bit of sunlight, but not too much. The scene was set to perfection. It was time.

"Three," she whispered to herself. "Two." Almost there. "One." The doorbell rang. The old lady took exactly one minute and four seconds to reach the door. She placed her trembling hand on the curved knob and took in a breath so deep that her lungs rattled with the memories. It was time to open the door. It was very important that she did everything at the proper time, not a second too soon or too slow. She was ready. At least she told herself that she was, but no one was ever ready for the man.

"Now or never," she muttered. She couldn't abide by never. The old lady opened the door. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him standing on her stoop, and at her age the skipping of a heart was a dangerous thing. It was fitting, for he was a dangerous thing. A great and terrible thing. He looked just as she remembered him; floppy hair, eyes that had seen too much and a crooked bow tie. He wasn't alone and she'd known he wouldn't be, but she hadn't anticipated the effect he would still have on her. She couldn't look past him to the others.

"You're late," the old woman accused.

"Pardon me?" the man asked, his fist still raised to knock at the door. "Have we met?" The Doctor had met plenty of people in the past 910 years. He remembered all of them and he was certain he'd never seen this old woman before.

"More or less." The old woman stepped aside. "Come in. The tea's getting cold." The Doctor hesitated a moment before following the woman inside. Gatsby Goode was right beside him, with the Ponds shuffling along behind.

"I think she knows you," Gatsby whispered. The Doctor studied the old woman. There was something familiar about her, though he couldn't place it. There was something about the way she walked, about her voice.

The old woman led them into the parlor and gestured for them to sit. She took the armchair nearest to the fire. The Doctor, Gatsby and Amy took the couch across from her, while Rory stood protectively behind his wife.

"Ma'am," the Doctor began. The old woman chuckled. It was odd to hear him call her ma'am. "You might have noticed that the city's-"

"Crawling with dinosaurs," the old woman finished for him. "Have some tea." She waved her hand at the tea tray. "It's Golden Moon White." She looked at Gatsby for the first time. "You'll like it." Gatsby took one of the china cups and tried a sip. She did like it. In fact, she more than liked it.

"Sorry, but you don't seem, well, very shocked about the dinosaurs," Rory spoke up. The old woman chuckled.

"When you've seen as much as I have, you learn to just accept things. Have a cucumber sandwich, Amy. You must be starving."

"How did you know my name?" Amy demanded. She wrapped her arms around her stomach. Her skin crawled under the old lady's eyes. There was certainly something odd going on here. The old woman realized her slip too late.

"Oops." She took out her pocket watch. "Too soon for that yet. We've got about seven minutes to go. The dinosaur thing has thrown me off a bit. This isn't the way it happened last time."

"Last time?" Gatsby asked.

"Yes, if I remember correctly, it was supposed to be futuristic beetles. I like the dinosaurs much better though." The Doctor was barely listening to her. He was too busy trying to figure out where he knew this woman from. It was right at his fingertips. Something about her smile. Something about the way she tilted her head.

"I'm making you nervous," the old woman said. Even the way she fiddled with the hem of her blouse was familiar to the Doctor. "You came here about Lemmy."

"How did you know?" Gatsby asked, shifting on the couch. The old woman was making her uncomfortable. Why did she keep looking at her like that? With so much sorrow in her eyes. Gatsby twirled her hair around her finger, a nervous habit. The old woman checked her pocket watch again. Just three more minutes before the Doctor figured it out.

"Call it a wild guess."

"He's your son," Amy said skeptically. The woman looked a bit too old to have an eight year old son.

"Adopted," the woman explained. "He's only been with me for a few months. This isn't the first time he's run off." And every time it scared her senseless. She knew that this would be the last time he disappeared, at least in her timeline.

"You wouldn't believe how difficult it is to raise an alien," the old woman sighed. Her guests were surprised by the declaration. Amy gaped at her across the table.

"You know he's an alien?"

"Of course I do." The Doctor was still inspecting her. It made the old lady nervous. Without realizing what she was doing, she wrapped the end of her white hair around her finger. It was a nervous habit that went unnoticed by everyone but the Doctor. He knew someone else with the same habit. He'd seen it done a thousand times. In fact, Gatsby Goode was doing it right now. The old woman saw him look from the girl sitting next to him to her. She saw everything falling into place in his mind. Right on schedule. The Doctor nearly upended the tea table when he leapt to his feet.

"Gatsby," he cried.

"Yes," Gatsby and the old woman said together.

"Not you," the Doctor said to the girl beside him. "You." He pointed at the old woman. "It's you. I mean you're her." He pointed to Gatsby, who had no idea what was going on or what he was rambling about. "Or she's you." He directed his other hand at the old woman, who was smiling.

"Doctor?" Amy said, worried that he'd finally lost it. The Doctor ignored her. His eyes darted from the Gatsby beside him to the Gatsby in front of him. There was no doubt about. They were the same person. The old woman's eyes were cloudy with cataracts, but he recognized that special spark.

"Good to see you again, Doctor," the old woman said, surprised that she meant it. "I've been waiting a very long time."

"What's going on?" Rory asked.

"I'm sorry." The old woman turned her attention to the Ponds. "It's good to see you two as well."

"We don't know you," Amy snapped. She didn't like this, not at all.

"Of course you do," the old woman laughed. "I'm sitting right beside you." Amy looked to Gatsby sitting next to her. She thought about what the Doctor had just said, as jumbled as it'd been, and it clicked.

"Oh god," she muttered.

"What?" Gatsby and Rory blurted, feeling helplessly out of the loop. The Doctor was still standing. This was almost too much, even for him.

"Gatsby," he said. "I'd like you to meet, well, yourself."

"Oh!" Rory exclaimed, catching on. "I get it!"

"I don't," Gatsby grumbled.

"I'm you," the old woman explained gently. "Fifty four years later." Everyone was silent while they waited for Gatsby to soak it in. The old woman was her? Her in the future. Gatsby's jaw dropped as she looked at herself. Of all the crazy things she'd seen with the Doctor this certainly won first place.

"Unfortunately there's not a trophy for the strangest thing," the old woman chuckled.

"How'd you know what I was thinking?" Gatsby asked defensively.

"Because I thought it first, fifty four years ago."

"This is freaky," Rory said, looking from present Gatsby to future Gatsby. The Doctor sat down.

"This is wrong." He stood back up. "This is dangerous. Your time lines can't cross." He sat down. Stood back up. "We have to leave." Present Gatsby wasn't listening. She was staring at herself, her future, wrinkles and all. Her head was spinning.

"Calm down," future Gatsby chided. "You can't leave."

"But we can't be here!" The Doctor looked at the two Gatsbys. One misstep and the whole fabric of time could unravel. There were rules to time travel. One of the most important being that people weren't allowed to poke around in their own time lines.

"You always end up here," future Gatsby said. "Before you ask, because I know you're going to, this isn't a fixed moment in time. Not exactly, but it has to happen." The Doctor sat down for good this time, waiting for her to explain further. There wasn't much that she could say though. This was a very delicate situation. The Doctor wasn't completely wrong. They had to be very careful. If she said too much or too little the repercussions could be disastrous.

"You're going to have to trust me," future Gatsby said. She'd trusted him with her entire life. Now he had to return the favor. The Doctor looked into his companion's eyes. Despite her age, there was still a trace of the child he knew. This was still his Gatsby, perhaps not as naïve and awe struck, but his companion all the same.

"Alright," the Doctor relented. "I trust you." He looked at both Gatsbys seriously. "But don't touch each other."

"Why?" present Gatsby asked.

"Because it would be a paradox," future Gatsby explained. "Remember what the Doctor told you about time today, how it's a big, messy knot?" Present Gatsby nodded. She remembered. "Well if we touch each other and create that paradox, the whole knot could fall apart."

"So don't touch yourself," the Doctor reiterated. Rory snorted. Amy glared at him over her shoulder.

"Oh come on," he said. "It was kind of funny." This situation was a lot of things, but Gatsby didn't think funny was one of them. She was still struggling to wrap her mind around all of this. It was hard to believe that the woman across from them was, well, her. The old woman seemed to know so much. She seemed to understand the time knot. She used words like paradox.

"You'll understand too someday," future Gatsby reassured. "But not today. We have to fix this dinosaur problem."

"Right," the Doctor agreed, reorganizing his thoughts. "Wait a minute." He glared at future Gatsby. "You adopted an alien?"

"I had to," future Gatsby said defensively. "His parents sent him to Earth for safety. Their planet, Bethbell, was taken over by the Bettadotta." It was strange for Gatsby to hear herself pronounce those foreign words perfectly.

"He's an alien," the Doctor groaned. "You can't just expect him to fit in."

"Oh, don't worry. I confiscated all of his extraterrestrial gadgets."

"No you didn't," the Doctor argued. Present Gatsby and the Ponds watched, too bewildered to join in, as the Doctor argued with future Gatsby. They were all coming down with headaches.

"Yes I did," future Gatsby snapped.

"Then explain the dinosaurs." Future Gatsby set down her tea cup with a bit too much force.

"Don't you dare go blaming Lemmy for this mess. He doesn't have anything to do with it."

"Right, so this is just a coincidence," the Doctor snorted. "If you've already lived all of this, you should know what's going on."

"I don't," future Gatsby huffed. "I already told you, it's different this time. When I was her-" Future Gatsby pointed at present Gatsby. "There weren't any dinosaurs. You saw Lemmy on television and that led you here, but in that time stream he didn't have anything to do with the futuristic beetles. He'd just run away, which is what's happened now."

"But you don't know for sure."

"He's a good kid," future Gatsby snapped, her motherly instincts bristling.

"But you don't know," the Doctor repeated.

"Not absolutely," she admitted reluctantly. After all of these years, he was still able to best her in an argument. Amy couldn't take anymore. She held up her hands before the debate could continue.

"Stop," she cried. "Let me get this straight. There are dinosaurs roaming London and the Doctor thinks your alien son is behind it, but in the past…well your past but our present…there were futuristic beetles instead of dinosaurs and the alien kid had nothing to do with them." She took in a deep breath at the end of her spiel. Could this day get any stranger?

"Exactly," future Gatsby confirmed.

"How can your past be different from my present?" Gatsby finally spoke up. Her future self grimaced sympathetically. She remembered exactly how confusing all of this had been forty five years ago.

"Something must have changed. Maybe you ate cereal for breakfast on a day when I chose oatmeal. One tiny difference like that could have a ripple effect."

"I hate cereal," Gatsby muttered.

"Funny, so do I," future Gatsby said with a smile.

"It doesn't matter," the Doctor interrupted. "Whether Lemmy has anything to do with dinosaurs or not, we still have to find him."

"At least that's something we can agree on," future Gatsby said.

"Do you have any idea where he'd go?" Rory asked. Future Gatsby shook her head no.

"Last time we found him by the docks, but I have no idea where he is this time."

"Great," Rory grumbled. The kid could be anywhere in London. They'd never find him. And there were the dinosaurs to worry about too. What next? Would the futuristic beetles make a reappearance?

"I might have an idea where to look," Amy said. They all turned to her. "Well, if he is responsible for the dinosaurs-"

"Which he's not," future Gatsby protested.

"You don't know that," the Doctor said.

"Shut up!" Amy roared over them. She was pregnant. She was confused. Her feet hurt. She couldn't stand another minute of their bickering. The Doctor and future Gatsby both looked at their feet, quieted.

"It's just a hunch," Amy continued. "But where would a kid who loved dinosaurs go?"

"The natural history museum," Rory answered.

"He did like the dinosaur exhibit," future Gatsby confessed. Before the Doctor could accuse her son again, she hurried on. "But that still doesn't mean anything."

"We'll look there first," the Doctor said, standing again.

"Are you coming with us?" Gatsby asked her future self.

"I think one of us is enough," future Gatsby answered. "Besides you need some time to think." Her future self was right. Gatsby needed more time than they had. She needed fifty four years to wrap her head around what was happening.

Future Gatsby walked with them to the front door. Her joints were stiff. Really she was too old for this kind of thing. Rory offered her his arm and she accepted it gratefully.

"When you find him," future Gatsby said, grabbing the Doctor's hand before he left. "Tell him that I'm worried sick, will you?"

"I will." The Doctor patted her hand. A tingle ran across future Gatsby's skin. Oh, she'd missed him. Her Doctor. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, but couldn't, especially not when her past self was listening. She stayed in the doorway to watch them leave; the old gang. Before they rounded the corner, present Gatsby glanced back. The old woman waved at herself, at the foolish girl she'd been so many years ago. As they disappeared, her old heart broke. If only she could change things. If only she could tell her past self…but no. There were some things that shouldn't be changed.

As she stood in the doorway, the old woman asked herself a question. Would I have still gone with him knowing what I know now? She just didn't know.

* * *

><p>People often wonder what it would be like to meet their future selves, to end all of the suspense of living and flip to the end of the book. Gatsby Goode had never been one of those people. Before she'd flown off with the Doctor she'd known what her future would be; a beneficial marriage, a beneficial child to carry on the family legacy and a beneficial death to carry her away from a life of boredom. Then the Doctor had changed everything. He'd held out his hand and she'd taken it. There hadn't been time to think about her personal future while travelling in the Tardis. She hadn't considered just how far her decision would stretch. She hadn't particularly cared. All that mattered was the present.<p>

Present is an odd word. It means the here and now, but it also means a gift. The Doctor had given Gatsby the greatest present of all; all; time and space wrapped up under the Christmas tree. But the future? For a girl who could step into the future at any time she wanted, she hadn't thought about her own. It hadn't seemed important until she was staring right at it. Now a thousand questions bounced around in her mind. How had she ended up in 21st century London? Were the wrinkles from too much laughter or too much frowning? Most importantly, where was the Doctor? Gatsby, like every other companion, had assumed that she'd be with the mad man forever, but her future self had said that she'd been waiting for him for a long time. What did that mean? Had he left her? Was he going to leave her? Or was she going to leave him? It was unthinkable. It was her future.

And in her present, the Doctor wasn't speaking to her. Gatsby walked a few steps behind the others as they entered the deserted museum, lost in her musings. If the Doctor had left her, then why? Gatsby didn't want to think about a life without him. She didn't want to think about how someday she would be an old woman with bad knees and lumbago, waiting for the Doctor to show up on her doorstep one last time. She'd told Amy that she'd stay with him forever, but she had no idea what forever really meant. Forever is another odd word, used improperly all of the time. Best friends forever. Love forever. Companions forever. Nothing lasts forever, not even the Doctor, and Gatsby had come to the realization that her days travelling in the Tardis would come to an end. She didn't know when. She didn't know why. She just knew that it would happen and the thought was a wretched one.

"Are you alright?" Amy fell back into step with the girl as the Doctor led them to the dinosaur exhibit.

"I don't know," Gatsby admitted. "It's, well, a lot to take in." As usual. Every time she thought the universe couldn't possibly have any more surprises, there was another curve ball. Another big, fat "GOT YOU GOOD THIS TIME, love the universe" postcard from What In The World Is Going On.

"If it helps, you looked good for a seventy three year old woman." It didn't help, but Gatsby appreciated the attempt. At least someone cared about how she felt. The Doctor hadn't looked at her since they'd left for the museum. She needed him to say the perfect thing. She needed him to explain. She needed him to say "Trust me". Instead he was ignoring her. Amy followed the girl's eyes to the Doctor and sighed. She took Gatsby's hand and gave it a squeeze.

"You know, for an alien, he's just like every other man," Amy said.

"How so?"

"Completely blind and completely ridiculous." Perhaps he could see through perception filters, but he couldn't see inside of Gatsby, even when the girl's emotions were written all over her face.

"Do you think he's going to leave me?" Gatsby muttered. It was really the only explanation. She was certain she wouldn't be the one to leave, but it made sense that eventually he would grow tired of her. After all, she was only human. There was nothing special about her. There was everything special about him.

"Maybe," Amy said with a shrug. "Let me give you some advice though. Enjoy your time with the Doctor while you have it. Don't think about what's going to happen tomorrow or fifty four years from now."

"Easy for you to say. You don't know what your life's going to be like in fifty four years. I do." Gatsby couldn't be consoled. She'd seen her future and she knew exactly how she felt about it. She didn't like it one bit. She didn't like having to realize that she was going to get old and crusty, while the Doctor stayed the same. It was another of those things she hadn't bothered thinking about until now. Time was a messy knot and she was suddenly lost in the middle of it, or the beginning of it, or the end of it.

"Then look at this way, you know you'll get to see him again, no matter what happens." This didn't cheer Gatsby up either. Sure, she'd see him again when she was old. That also meant that she'd be waiting for him. When they parted ways she wouldn't be able to move on with her life, because she'd be anticipating his return. Why did it always seem that people were waiting for him? He was going to ruin her life. Gatsby understood that now. If she couldn't travel with him forever and she couldn't let him go knowing he'd be back someday, this day, well she lost either way.

"How do you do it?" Gatsby asked. "How do you keep going after he's gone?" She needed advice for the future that was inevitable. Amy watched the Doctor bobbing ahead of them as they passed through the Egyptian showcase.

"It's different for everyone," she said. "I have Rory to keep me going. You find something and you hold onto it with all you have, because if you don't have anything to keep you grounded then you'll go mad. The Doctor, he thinks he understands how we feel after he's gone, but he doesn't really. He thinks he does us a favor by leaving. His life is dangerous, you know that, and maybe he knows a million things that we'll never comprehend, but there's one thing he hasn't learned yet, not even after all this time."

"What's that?"

"He doesn't know that every minute is worth it. Ten minutes with him is worth a lifetime missing him. A second with him is worth dying for." Gatsby agreed. Even though she wouldn't be with the Doctor someday, even though she knew it would have been easier for her in the end if she'd never met him, Gatsby wouldn't change a single thing. He would break her heart. That went without saying, and it didn't matter.

"Don't tell him I said that," Amy chuckled. "It'd go straight to his already oversized head." Despite herself, Gatsby smiled. Maybe Amy had a point after all. There was no telling how many more adventures Gatsby would have with the Doctor and she didn't want to waste a single second moping about the future. She was going to enjoy her present as best she could. She'd have plenty of time to mourn him when she was an old lady, but not today. It wasn't time yet.

Gatsby struggled to push aside her concerns as they entered the dinosaur exhibition room. It wasn't very impressive now that she'd seen living dinosaurs and compared to meeting herself the old bones were plain boring. She and Amy circled the edge of the room.

"Troodons," Amy said, pointing at a little plaque by one of the skeletons. Gatsby inspected the picture on the plaque. The neck was too short.

"Pterodactyls over here," Rory cried, standing under the pterodactyl replicas strung from the ceiling. There was no need for any of them to mention the t-rex. No one would have missed it. The skeleton was on display smack dab in the center of the room.

"But no boy," the Doctor stated. There wasn't anywhere in the room for a child to hide. Amy made her way to a display of reptilian birds. They were odd things with feathers and scales. She read the description beneath the models. _The Avisaur; present during the late Cretaceous period. Habitat- humid, low lying swamps. Discovered by J. David Archibald._ She glanced back up at the model and was startled to find that there were now two of the recreated reptile birds. Amy could have sworn that there had only been one. The second avisaur that hadn't been there before had something clamped in its mouth; a metal rod. How strange.

Amy stumbled backwards when the avisaur model cocked its head to the side.

"Doctor!" she cried. But before anyone could reach her, the avisaur spread its wings and leapt from its post. Rory dropped to the ground when the little beast glided over his head. The Doctor, however, jumped as high as he could, trying to snatch the prehistoric bird and only managing to catch a handful of feathers. He'd seen the metal rod in the bird's mouth. Just a glimpse, but it had been enough.

"After that bird!" the Doctor ordered.

"Avisaur," Amy corrected. No one heard her. They were already chasing the reptilian bird away from the dinosaur exhibit. Grumbling under her breath, Amy waddled after them.

The avisaur swooped back into the Egyptian room. Gatsby slid around the sarcophagus of some long dead pharaoh. She slipped across the marble floor and collided into a stand. The ancient vase perched on top teetered precariously, but didn't fall. Gatsby let out a breath of relief too soon. Not five seconds later Rory bumped into her. The stand toppled. The priceless vase shattered into a thousand hand-painted pieces of history.

"Oops," Rory muttered.

"We'll get another one," the Doctor said, running past them after the bird.

"How are we going to find another one?" Rory asked, chasing after him with Gatsby close behind.

"I have a time machine," the Doctor reminded them. They followed the bird into the caveman era. There was no way out. "Rory, stand by the door," the Doctor ordered. The bird circled above them, far out of reach.

"Anyone have a ladder?" the Doctor asked.

"Let me just check my pockets," Rory snapped. Gatsby craned her neck to watch the bird. They were stumped. The Doctor held out his arm and cooed at the creature.

"Here birdy birdy." The bird propelled itself higher.

"You're scaring it," Gatsby chided. The Doctor spun around and glared at her.

"Well I don't see you coming up with any clever ideas," he barked. It was the first thing he'd said to her since they'd left her future self's home. Gatsby didn't know what she'd done to make him so angry with her.

"What's your problem?" she demanded.

"My problem?" The Doctor stepped towards her. "This is all your fault."

"Excuse me?"

"You had to go and adopt an alien!"

"No I haven't."

"You're going to," the Doctor accused. Gatsby narrowed her eyes at him. So that was why he was upset with her, for something she hadn't even done yet. It was completely unfair, but before she could say anything else the avisaur decided to release itself on the Doctor's head. Gatsby couldn't have said it better herself. Serves him right.

Amy caught up with them while the Doctor tried to shake the prehistoric dung from his hair. She wasn't alone.

"Come on you," she huffed, tugging a boy along behind her. The others, distracted by the avisaur, hadn't noticed Lemmy Goode, but due to her inability to run Amy had spotted him. She pushed him ahead of her into the room.

"Go on, tell them what you told me," she coaxed. Lemmy looked up at the strangers through his pale eyelashes.

"It was just a joke," Lemmy muttered.

"Aha!" the Doctor cried, pointing at the child. "So you did bring the dinosaurs here."

"He's a kid," Gatsby protested. "How could he possibly-"

"Stop defending him, Goode."

"Stop confusing me with myself." Gatsby didn't even understand her own words. This was much too complicated. Amy rested her hands on the boy's shoulder firmly.

"Tell them," she repeated.

"He doesn't need to," the Doctor said. "I know how he did it. See that rod?" He gestured to the metal thing in the avisaur's mouth. It was all so obvious now. Well, the dinosaur invasion was obvious. The whole two Gatsby thing was still a mystery to him.

"What about it?" Rory asked.

"It's not a metal rod. Well, it is metal."

"Get on with it," Gatsby interrupted. She wasn't in the mood to put up with his usual dramatics.

"It's a digital reconstruction rod," the Doctor stated, peeved at being interrupted. "I told you that you didn't confiscate all of the kid's technology."

"You didn't tell me anything. I'm not me!" Gatsby stomped her foot. It was childish. She didn't care.

"Philosophical statements aside," Rory intervened. "Care to explain what a digital reconstruction rod is?"

"It reconstructs things digitally. Isn't that clear?"

"Doctor, grow up," Amy barked. She marched up to him, wagging her finger in his face. "Apologize to Gatsby for blaming her for something she hasn't done yet." The Doctor had faced fleets of Daleks without blinking an eye. He'd seen the end of time without breaking a sweat. But there was one thing that never failed to frighten him; mothers.

"Sorry Gatsby," he murmured.

"Now tell us about this rod," Amy continued.

"You scan a picture or a model of something and it brings that thing to life. That's why only the dinosaurs in this museum are rampaging through the city."

"Now was that so hard?" Amy asked. The Doctor shuffled his feet and looked down, unable to meet her gaze. He'd never been sent to time out before, but he wouldn't put it past Amy to try out the technique.

"Great, but I still don't see how we're going to get this digital picture thingy back," Rory spoke up. Amy had a solution for this as well. She reached back and grabbed Lemmy. All it took was one look for the boy to do what she wanted him to do. Lemmy stuck two fingers into his mouth and whistled. The avisaur swooped down and perched on top of his flaxen head. Amy tore the digital reconstruction rod from its beak and tossed it to the Doctor.

"I'll only slow you down, right?" she said, grinning smugly at her husband.

"I was wrong. You were right." Rory had said it a thousand times in the past week alone. Amy smiled softly at her husband and kissed his cheek before reassuming her no nonsense attitude.

"Right," she said. "Let's get Lemmy home." With the alien child between them, the Pond couple left the room, leaving Gatsby and the Doctor alone. The looked at each other sheepishly.

"I really am sorry," the Doctor said. Gatsby crossed her arms. She wasn't going to let him off of the hook just yet. Sometimes he could be so awful and she was tired of being the target for his frustrations. This time she was going to let him stew in his guilt for a while.

"You have some dinosaur poop on your shoulder," she said coldly as she brushed past him. Just because she'd have to give him up some day didn't mean Gatsby Goode couldn't still be angry with him while he was around. Maybe she would be the one to leave him after all, but even as she thought it Gatsby knew he could never make her mad enough to do that.


	19. 18: End in the Middle of This Story

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.

Author's Note: Read, review (thank you for those who have) and hopefully enjoy. Oh, and the last paragraph is more important than it seems.

* * *

><p>"<em>We're so lucky we're still alive to see this beautiful world…"<em>

Lemmy had only been trying to get a laugh. He hadn't meant for half of the city to be bulldozed by the T-rex. He hadn't meant for Mrs. Next Door Neighbor's roses to be ruined by the pterodactyls. The truth was he was lonely on this planet called Earth. It was still very strange to the young alien. He didn't understand the silly pants he had to wear to school. He didn't understand school. What was algebra anyways? What was the American Revolution? He'd been sent to the headmaster's office for disrupting the class when he'd asked what America was. There weren't any Americas where he'd come from. When his teacher had assigned them a paper on what they'd done over winter vacation, he'd landed him self into trouble again for writing about the time he and his friends had nearly been eaten by wild Bugga-beasts, ferocious creatures that resembled buffalos in every aspect save for their twelve eyes. It wasn't Lemmy's intention to be the class clown. It wasn't his fault that all of his teachers thought he was a trouble-maker. Back home in Bettadotta bringing pictures to life was something every child had done by their sixth birthday. Back home the adults laughed when their children destroyed half of the village. This Earth place was just too uptight. There were so many rules!

He hadn't meant to be bad. He hadn't meant to make his adopted mother worry so much. Back home he'd run off for weeks at a time and his parents had never worried. Bettadotta had been the safest planet in the Betta system. Bettacandor was plagued with crime. Bettacalluga was overrun with poisonous snakes, but nothing bad every really happened in Bettadotta. At least not until the Bethbells had invaded. Many parents had sent their children away in the early days of the invasion. The kids of Bettadotta had been scattered all across the universe. Lemmy was too young to understand why he'd been sent away. He didn't understand that his parents had done it to protect him, to keep him from becoming a slave to the Bethbells. He thought he'd done something wrong. He thought his parents didn't love him anymore, and as the old lady glared down at him he feared she was going to send him away as well.

"What were you thinking?" future Gatsby demanded, hands on hips. "I had no idea where you were, if you were okay. Do you know how scared I was?"

"I'm sorry," Lemmy muttered.

"Sorry doesn't cut it, young man!" But she couldn't stay angry. She'd always been too forgiving. Goodness knows she'd forgiven the Doctor more times than anyone in the universe deserved to be forgiven.

"Please don't send me away," Lemmy pleaded. He didn't like this place called Earth, but he didn't want to have to start all over again somewhere else. Besides the old lady had been kind to him. She wasn't his mother, he hadn't forgotten that, but she was the closest thing to one he'd ever have again. Future Gatsby's expression softened.

"Send you away?" she said. "Of course I'm not going to do that." She pulled the boy into her arms and held him tight. She didn't enjoy lying to the child. They'd only been together for a few months, but she loved him dearly. She'd loved him fifty-four years ago and she knew that she'd be losing him very, very soon. Losing him for the third time. The last time. Lemmy was one of her biggest regrets, and she'd waited for many years to find him again, knowing that she couldn't change anything that had happened but hoping that she could make it up to him in the only way she knew how; by being his mother for a few months.

"But you're not off the hook." Future Gatsby let the boy go. "No television for a week."

"No telly for a week?" the Doctor cried. "He set dinosaurs loose in London and that's the punishment you come up with. What about putting him the stocks for a few days?"

"We don't have stocks anymore," future Gatsby snapped. "Besides that's child abuse."

"How's he ever going to learn right and wrong if you let him get away with things?"

"Last I checked, Lemmy was my son, not yours. I'll punish him how I see fit."

"But-"

"But nothing." Future Gatsby turned back to her son. "Lemmy, go to your room."

"But-"

"Enough with the buts!" She pointed down the hallway. "Go." With his head down, Lemmy tramped away. They heard his door slam and then there was silence.

"See what you're getting yourself into," future Gatsby huffed, looking at the Ponds. Amy rubbed her belly as the baby kicked. Hopefully her child would never bring prehistoric monsters back from extinction. Putting up with the terrible twos and the even more terrible teenage years didn't worry her so much now that she'd seen what future Gatsby had to deal with. Thank goodness their child would be one hundred percent human. She imagined what it would be like to have a baby Doctor running around the house, because that's who Lemmy reminded her of. Speaking of the Doctor, he was still scowling over the boy's lax punishment.

"Oh come on," Amy chuckled. "You probably got into all kinds of mischief as a child. In fact you still do." The Doctor looked at her with eyes full of indignation.

"I was an obedient child, thank you very much."

"Sure you were," future and present Gatsby scoffed. The Doctor wasn't sure which of them to address, so he spoke to the space of wall between them.

"I never got into trouble."

"You stole the Tardis!" Amy reminded him.

"And didn't you mention something about blowing up a planet?" Rory added.

"It was a moon," the Doctor corrected. "And it was an accident."

"Cut the kid some slack," Amy said. "He didn't mean for things to get out of control."

"Let's focus on how we're going to get rid of the dinosaurs," Gatsby intervened before the Doctor could continue.

"Already done." The Doctor whipped the digital reconstruction rod from his pocket. "All we have to do is push the green button and poof, no more dinosaurs."

"Um, there is no green button," Rory pointed out.

"Of course there is!" The Doctor held the rod out under Rory's nose. "See it's right…well it should be there."

"Are you sure?" Amy asked.

"Of course I'm sure. I'm the Doctor. I'm always sure. There has to be a green button." He flipped the rod over. He held it over his head and looked up at it. He set it on the ground, circled it three times, and then smashed his heel against it.

"Doctor!" Future Gatsby tugged the back of his shirt, pulling him away before he broke the rod. "There is no button." He picked up the rod and stuck it in his mouth, and then pulled it back out again. There had to be a button. There was always a button, but no matter what angle he held the rod, he couldn't find it. He was wrong…unless…unless.

"There's a piece missing!" he declared. "That's brilliant. That's absolutely wonderful. A piece of alien technology is just lying somewhere in London. Anyone could find it. Do you know what will happen if a piece of this falls into the wrong hands? The whole of humanity could be erased just like that." He snapped his fingers under Amy's nose. He hadn't noticed future Gatsby slip away from the parlor.

"And do you know what the odds are that we'll find it before someone else does? Infinity times infinity times a zillion point three to seven."

"You made that statistic up," Gatsby interrupted.

"I did not."

"Did to."

"Fine, maybe it's a zillion point ten. Does it matter? London's either going to be wiped out by dinosaurs or wiped out of existence by some stupid human who can't resist pushing buttons and there's nothing we can do about it."

"Doctor?" Future Gatsby had returned with a box cradled in her arms.

"This is what happens when you adopt an alien." The Doctor said to present Gatsby. "So do the universe a favor and don't try it fifty four years from now."

"Doctor!" Future Gatsby repeated, trying to catch his attention. The Doctor ignored her and rounded on the Ponds.

"And you two idiots are so determined to have a baby. What's so interesting about them? They poop and they cry and they can't do anything for themselves, except endanger all of planet Earth with one prank."

"DOCTOR!" It had been a long time since future Gatsby had screamed. She just didn't have the lung capacity for it anymore, but she knew the Doctor would rage forever if they let him.

"What?" he snapped. She pulled a metal rod from the box and held it up.

"Is this the missing piece?" The Doctor ripped it from her hands. He slid the two parts together. There was a satisfying click. Better than that, there was a green button.

"Told you I was right," he grumbled.

"About the button," future Gatsby snorted. "But didn't you mention something about the odds being infinity times infinity times a zillion point three to seven that we'd be able to find the other half of the rod?" Present Gatsby looked at herself impressed. She was sure the old woman hadn't been in the room when he'd thrown out that statistic.

"How did you-?"

"Because those are the same numbers he always uses," future Gatsby answered before present Gatsby could finish the question. "He's very predictable, for a time traveling alien that is."

"Extraterristrial," the Doctor muttered.

"Actually that's not politically correct anymore. I think the favored term these days is Incongruous Being from a Foreign World."

"Incongruous Being from a Foreign World," the Doctor mimicked.

"Most people just say I.B. F. W." future Gatsby said with a shrug. Present Gatsby gaped at her future. How did she know so much?

"Don't any of you read The Universe News?" The Ponds, present Gatsby and even the Doctor shook their heads no. In fact, none of them had ever heard of such a thing before. "Well, it's a wonderful investment, but not if you're looking for topics to discuss at 21st century Earth dinner parties." Future Gatsby had learned that the hard way a few years ago. She'd had a bit too much wine one night and made the mistake of bringing up the universal ban on space fungus trade. She hadn't been invited to the next soiree. Actually she hadn't been invited to anything since then. Knowing what she knew had made life a bit lonely. She'd done her best to be normal, but it was a difficult thing to master once you'd seen the stars.

She wouldn't admit it to the Doctor, but she needed Lemmy just as much as he needed her. She needed a small part of space in her life. That's why she kept up with the universe through a very expensive news subscription. That's another reason why she'd adopted the boy. None of these things measured up to being with the Doctor, but it was the best she could do to fill the part of her he'd taken with him all of those years ago.

"Well, shouldn't we push the green button and send the dinosaurs back?" Rory broke the silence.

"Nope," the Doctor said. "We need to go somewhere higher."

"Higher?" Gatsby asked.

"Much higher. The signal has to broadcast over the whole of London."

"The Crystal Palace transmitting station," Amy suggested.

"Excellent!" The Doctor clapped her on the back. "Quick thinking, Pond. Maybe you haven't lost it after all."

"Lost what?" But the Doctor was already headed for the door. The sooner they cleaned up this mess the sooner they could leave. Despite what future Gatsby had said about this being a moment in time that had to happen, it still made him anxious to have the two Gatsbys together. It went against all of the rules.

The Doctor throw open the front door and closed them again promptly.

"We might have a teensy problem," he said. Rory groaned. It was never just a teensy problem. He moved past the Doctor and peaked through the lacy curtains. He leapt back, shrieking, when none other than a velociraptor pressed its snout against the glass. There were more of them outside. At least half a dozen. They were trapped.

"Now what?" Amy demanded. There was no way they could sneak past a pack of hungry velociraptors. She'd seen Jurassic Park. She knew the odds were infinity times infinity times a zillion point three to seven that they'd survive if they stepped outside that door.

"You could use that sonic blast thing," Gatsby said.

"Too many. The blast range isn't very good. It's more of a sonic two foot radius."

"Then what do we do?"

"Future Gatsby, do you have any of those cucumber sandwiches left over?" the Doctor asked.

"I don't think velociraptors eat cucumber," she snorted.

"Of course they don't, but I'm famished."

"Doctor!" Amy growled.

"What? We can't go outside. We might as well eat. They'll go somewhere else eventually."

"And by then half of London could be destroyed," Rory cried. He swiped the Doctor's sonic screwdriver. They couldn't just sit and wait for the velociraptors to leave. The dinosaur problem had to be taken care of, preferably before his wife went into labor.

"I'll create a distraction," Rory stated.

"Don't be stupid," Amy snapped. "You'll be killed." Rory didn't need to be reminded.

"I'll be fine. I've got the screwdriver."

"You don't know how to use it," Amy pointed out.

"Doctor, can you show me how to do the sonic thing?" Before Amy could protest, he rushed on. "At least I can hold them off for a bit, lead them away."

"You're not going!" Amy held the Doctor back as he moved forward to show Rory the proper button combination to activate the sonic two foot radius. She'd let him go off chasing dinosaurs, but she had to draw the line somewhere.

"What other option do we have?" Rory stepped up to his wife and put his hands on her shoulders. "I'll be alright, sweetheart. It's not like I haven't died before." He gave her a weak smile. Amy wasn't convinced. Thinking about his previous death didn't reassure her in the least.

"Amy." He squeezed her shoulders. "I have to do this." He had to protect her and the baby. He didn't want his child to be born into a world where prehistoric monsters roamed the streets.

"I'll go with you." Gatsby stepped forward.

"Absolutely not," the Doctor said.

"Two is better than one. We can split them up."

"Goode, I am not letting you-"

"It's not your decision to make," she barked. "I don't need your permission."

"Gatsby…" The Doctor took her hand. He wanted to argue. He wanted to tell her it was the most absurd plan he'd ever heard before, and he'd come up with some pretty absurd plans in his 910 years, but looking into her eyes he knew she wouldn't listen to him. His little Gatsby was growing up.

"Be careful," he said at last.

"You too," Gatsby whispered. The Doctor let go of present Gatsby's hand. Amy threw her arms around her husband and kissed him fiercely.

"I love you, stupid face," she mumbled against his neck. "Come back."

"Always." Rory gently unwound her arms from around him and looked at Gatsby. "Ready?" he asked. The girl nodded. She was as ready as she'd ever be.

"Do us a favor." Rory paused with his hand over the doorknob. "Try and be quick."

"Rory the Roman," the Doctor smiled at his old companion. "Try to survive." And watch out for Gatsby, he added silently. It took every bit of self-control he had not to stop the girl from leaving. He reached out for Amy's hand as they watched the two people they cared most about in the entire universe walk into a nest of angry raptors. Gatsby turned back one last time to look at the Doctor. She wasn't mad at him anymore. She couldn't be. This might be the last time she saw him. Gatsby ran back, stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek. She was surprised by her gumption, but even more surprised by the Doctor's blush. Future Gatsby stood apart from the old gang, struggling to keep her tears in check. When was the last time she'd kissed the Doctor's cheek? When was the last time he'd looked at her like that? Far too long.

Present Gatsby returned to Rory's side. Together they stepped outside, closing the door behind them. Amy immediately moved to the window, holding her breath. She watched her husband wave his arms over his head, drawing in the raptors attention. If only she could be with him…He looked so alone, so helpless. The raptors took the bait. Rory and Gatsby were on the run, the raptors snapping at their heels. Amy continued watching long after they'd left her sight.

"The coast is clear," she said, her face and hands still pressed to the glass.

"No time to waste then." The Tardis was just outside. They could see it from the window. All he had to do was make it to the blue box.

"I'm coming with you," future Gatsby declared.

"No you're not," the Doctor said.

"Yes I am." She'd made up her mind. This was her last big adventure. She pushed past him to the door. "I'm old," she told him over her shoulder. "Not dead." The Doctor didn't have time to argue with her. They had to do this quickly. Present Gatsby and Rory couldn't outlast the raptors for long.

"Amy, make sure Lemmy stays in his room. Oh, and he should have his lunch at twelve thirty. There should be some left overs in the fridge. You're welcome to whatever you find." She threw open the door and stepped outside. The Doctor gaped after her. One stubborn Gatsby was more than enough for him. Two were enough to drive him mad. Even more mad than he already was.

"Are you coming or not?" future Gatsby called from the front steps. The Doctor threw up his hands. For once it was his turn to just go along with it and hope for the best.

"Lock the door," the Doctor ordered as he slipped out.

"Because that'll stop the dinosaurs," Amy grumbled. But she locked the door anyways before returning to the window. She watched the Doctor and the old woman vanish inside the Tardis. She heard the familiar groan, the gasp, and then the blue box was gone. She was alone. Her husband was fleeing hungry raptors. Her Doctor was off saving the day as usual. Meanwhile she'd been left behind to babysit an alien.

* * *

><p>The old woman hadn't been inside of the Tardis for many years. She stroked the console panel affectionately.<p>

"Hello, old girl," she murmured. "Well, I suppose we're both old girls now." The Tardis hummed at her touch, recognizing the old woman much quicker than the Doctor had. Oh, she'd gone to many wonderful places in this little blue box. She remembered saving Atlantis. She remembered the Venatici and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Such a long, long time ago, and now she was back. The last adventure. The last danger. She wasn't sure if she was ready. She'd thought she had been. She'd thought she'd left all of this behind, but somewhere deep down she'd always known there was no leaving the Doctor behind.

The Doctor suspended the Tardis 719 feet in the air, next to the top of the Crystal Palace Transmitter, the fourth tallest structure in London. He threw open the blue doors. Future Gatsby stood back to let him do the technical stuff. She knew a lot more than she had in the beginning. She probably could have done it herself, but she wouldn't steal the Doctor's spot light. He enjoyed it more than he'd ever admit. She let him attach the digital reconstruction rod to the blinking transmitter. It wasn't a complex procedure; more difficult than brain surgery but easier than assembling a child's toy. Future Gatsby was content to watch him at work. His brow was scrunched in concentration, an expression she'd missed dearly.

In all their years apart she hadn't forgotten a single thing about him. She remembered every expression, even the ones he didn't know he made, every word he'd ever said to her and even some of the words he was never able to bring himself to say. Her Doctor. His finger hesitated over the green button. He turned back to future Gatsby.

"Would you like the honor?" he asked. She smiled at him and shuffled forward. He held the back of her sweater as she leaned forward. They were so high up, but she wasn't worried about falling. The Doctor would never allow it. She pushed the green button. Nothing happened. At least nothing visible. No one could see the thousand volt frequencies streaming across the city. If they had been able to, they'd have seen something resembling purple lighting for less than a second before going blind.

Mrs. Next Door Neighbor, having given up hope for the survival of her rose bushes, dropped her tea cup as the pterodactyls in her yard vanished. Tiddles the tabby cat, having been kidnapped by an avisaur, fell from the sky when the prehistoric bird disappeared. Luckily she landed on her feet, as she'd already used up eight of her nine lives. Rory had closed his eyes, picturing his wife for the last time, as he shielded Gatsby Goode from the raptors that had cornered them. When he opened them the street was empty. The velociraptors had gone.

"He did," Gatsby cried, wrapping her arms around Rory. "The Doctor did it!"

All across London people were carefully stepping outside of their houses and blinking at the damage that had been done. No one except for the Doctor, his companions and an alien boy far from home would ever know how the dinosaurs came to London. In the 32nd British Empire children were sitting in their classrooms, learning about it. The past had been changed and all because Gatsby Goode might have decided to have cereal for breakfast instead of oatmeal.

Future Gatsby looked out at the city she'd been born in many years in the future, the city that she'd chosen to retire in and the city that she would die in. She stood in the doorway of the Tardis with the Doctor, their arms brushing. Her blood pumped faster than it had in years. The excitement of drifting high above London with her time travelling alien made her feel young again. She hardly felt the ache in her joints. Her indigestion was momentarily cured.

"Do you want a hint?" she asked. "About what's going to happen next." The Doctor didn't look at her. He was just as intently staring down at London.

"No," he said. It was too risky. There were some things about the future that not even he should know. Whatever was going to happen to him and Gatsby was one of those things. He removed the digital reconstruction rod from the tower and tucked into his pocket.

"I'll take all of Lemmy's things," the Doctor said. They could go in the Tardis storage room. It was bigger than Parliament.

"Not even the tiniest of hints," future Gatsby wheedled as they floated past Big Ben; the original was really much nicer than the twelfth model.

"Absolutely not." He jammed his fingers in his ears and whistled Yankee Doodle in case she decided to tell him despite his protest. Future Gatsby pulled his hands away from his ears.

"Don't worry," she chuckled. "I wouldn't have told you anything anyways." She moved away from the doors. With each step she gained another year until by the time she was back at the console she'd returned to being an old woman. No, she wouldn't tell him about what was going to happen; the great and the terrible things. But there was something she needed to say. Something that she'd been waiting to bring up until they were alone.

The Doctor closed the Tardis doors and joined her. He was about to fly the Tardis back to future Gatsby's house, but she grabbed his arm.

"Doctor, wait." He waited, even though he knew it was time to go. They'd put all of time and space at risk being with future Gatsby as long as they had.

"I need you to stay here for a bit longer," future Gatsby said. She held her hand up before he could protest. "I'm going to die," she declared.

"Of course you are. Everyone does." Future Gatsby shook her head. She held onto the console.

"I'm going to die tomorrow," she confessed. She knew the exact day, the exact time. She'd been waiting for fifty four years. It was finally time. Her last adventure.

"A brain tumor," she chuckled. "Of all things, I never would have guessed something as normal as a brain tumor would be the end of me."

"Gatsby…"

"There's nothing you can do, so don't try. It's my time." She straightened up as best she could with a crooked spine and looked him in the eyes. Those eyes that had seen too much.

"Will you stay?" she asked. "Will you be there for my last hoorah?" The Doctor didn't know what to say. Every inch of him was screaming that it was a bad idea. It was too dangerous to even be here. This was Gatsby's future. His Gatsby's. It wasn't something he should meddle with, but…but…

"I'll stay." He took her wizened hands in his. Of course he would stay, all of time and space be damned. The rulebook thrown into a black hole. She'd left everything for him. She'd faced countless dangers at his side and though he didn't know when or why, someday he was going to leave her to become this sad, old woman who was finally finished waiting. The least he could do was be there for the end.

Future Gatsby looked at their intertwined hands. Sometimes she still reached out in the dark expecting to find him. This was the way it always happened. The futuristic beetles might have become dinosaurs. She might have eaten cereal instead of oatmeal, but it always ended with the Doctor. Nothing ever changed that. It was a fixed moment in time. Gatsby always died on the same day at the same time with the Doctor beside her. There was a certain symmetry to the universe that very few ever understood. Gatsby's life had begun with the Doctor. It had to come to close with him as well. There were rules that not even they, that not even a black hole, could break.

The Tardis continued to bob over London. The Doctor wasn't concerned with landing anymore. Below a young girl looked up to the sky and saw the blue box sailing overhead. For the rest of her life she would try to convince people of what she'd seen. No one would ever believe her, at least not while she was alive. Dinosaurs were one thing, but boxes just didn't fly. It wasn't possible. It was a pretend thing, but that little girl would believe in what she'd seen until the day she died. She'd tell her children and her grandchildren about it. Years and years and years later the story would still exist. In the 32nd Empire of England, the Anathemas, who believed in the pretend things, would tell their children about the blue box as they tucked them into bed at night. Gatsby Goode, having been raised by a perfectly respectable family, would never have heard the story. Even if she had, she'd never have believed that she was living it. She'd never have believed that she was the story.


	20. 19: Even Stars Burn Out

Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor who.

Author's Note: I admit that writing this made me cry. It's time for a new adventure though. Have any of you ever been stuck waiting in line for what seemed like forever? Well, imagine if it really did last that long. That's all I'm going to say about the next section of the story.

Also I apologize if things seem a bit drawn out. I'm trying to stay true to the Doctor Who theme of dropping subtle hints and then punching you in the face with the big revelation at the end (ex. Bad Wolf). Look for clues. Come up with guesses of what you think is going to happen. After all, that's a big part of what makes Doctor Who fun...no matter how hard you try you can never predict what's going to happen next.

Read, review (thank you for those who have) and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p>"<em>I had to die. I didn't have to die alone."<em>

The Doctor had hurried away as soon as they'd returned to the Pond household. He'd told them that he had a few loose ends to wrap up, nothing to worry about, something about seeing a man with an electric porch swing. Gatsby didn't buy it for a second. He'd never lied to her before and she wondered what could be so awful that he had to start now. Where was he? Why hadn't he come back yet? Was he ever coming back? She dreaded that he'd left her. No matter how many times Amy and Rory tried to assure her that she was being ridiculous, Gatsby couldn't help it. Had her future self told him something that had made him decide to go? Without even saying goodbye! Was this how she ended up living in the 21st century? He'd only said one thing to her before he vanished.

"Don't go visiting your future self," he'd ordered. "Stay here. Finish up our vacation." She was having a difficult time just staying put. She couldn't sit around waiting for him to come back, assuming he ever would. She'd tried helping Amy around the house, but the woman insisted she relax. After all Gatsby's stitches were still healing. She'd never had stitches before. She kept picking at them, despite Rory's chastisements. They itched something fierce. She'd have a nice scar from where one of the raptors had clawed her arm. Her first battle scar.

Gatsby had flipped through every television channel. London had returned to normal. The Queen had just been airlifted back into the city, in time to assure her citizens that the dinosaur problem had been taken care of. Mrs. Next Door Neighbor was busy outside salvaging what was left of her garden. It was as though nothing had happened. Humans always carried on. A million years from now they would still be sipping their tea and eating their chips. They weren't overly concerned with the things they couldn't explain. Dinosaurs in London? Well that was yesterday's news. Now everyone was more concerned with the prince's engagement. Gatsby, however, couldn't have cared less. She turned off the telly and made her way to the kitchen where Amy was attempting to cook dinner. She was humming merrily as she scraped burnt bits of stew from the pot on the stove.

"Where do you think he is?" Gatsby asked, pacing back and forth across the linoleum floor. Amy pushed her bangs from her eyes.

"Your guess is as good as mine," she said. "Don't worry. He'll be back." Gatsby wasn't so sure. The knot in her stomach tightened with each second he was gone. She sat down. Stood up. Sat down and stood back up again. She was tired of waiting for the Doctor. She couldn't imagine waiting for the next fifty four years for him to show up again. If he wasn't coming back, she needed to know. There was only one person who could put her out of her misery.

"I'm going out for a walk," Gatsby said. Amy blocked her path to the door, holding her whisk threateningly.

"You heard what the Doctor said. No going to see your future self."

"I know. I just need some air." Amy , though still suspicious, lowered her whisk and let the girl pass by.

"I'll be back for dinner," Gatsby called over her shoulder as she leapt down the back steps. She didn't enjoy lying to Amy. She didn't enjoy breaking her promises to the Doctor, but she had to know. She had some questions for her future self.

Gatsby wandered out of the suburbs, taking one wrong turn after another until finally all of her mistakes led her to a main road. She stood on the corner and threw out her hand to signal a taxi cab. It wasn't long before one pulled over. She clambered in and then she settled into the sticky, leather to watch the twilit city slip past. She looked at all of the people in their bright clothes. She marveled at the flamboyant shop display windows and tried to imagine how this lively London could become the dreary place she'd been born in. Every child in the 32nd British Empire knew all about the Great Wars that had nearly destroyed England. In a hundred years all of these grand buildings would crumble, but for now it was a beautiful, colorful place. If the Doctor had abandoned her, this wasn't such a terrible time to be stuck in. At least she had Amy and Rory. They'd help her adjust. Gatsby tried to convince herself that she could survive if the Doctor had left her behind, but silently she prayed to the pretend things that he hadn't.

"Ere you go, ma'am," the driver said, pulling up in front of future Gatsby's house. Gatsby used all of the money she'd brought from home to pay him, thankful that the currency hadn't changed. She made her way to the front door, taking her time. She rang the doorbell. No one answered. The taxi had already sped away. Night was falling. Gatsby stood on the stoop, unsure what to do next. Should she just walk in? This was her house after all, sort of. Gatsby pushed open the front door.

"Hello?" Her voice bounced down the empty hallway. The Doctor's warning echoed in her mind. Don't go visiting your future self. She couldn't turn back now. Gatsby tip toed into the house. She peaked into the parlor and the kitchen. They were dark and deserted. She made her way up the creaky stairs.

"Hello," she called again. All of the doors on the second floor were closed except for one that was open just a crack. Someone coughed from inside. Gatsby raised her fist to knock.

"Come in," the old woman rasped before Gatsby could rap her knuckles against the door. She entered the room. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. The curtains were drawn tight. The old woman was tucked into bed, the sheets pulled up to her chin.

Future Gatsby patted the side of her bed. She'd known the other Gatsby would come. It's what she'd done fifty four years ago. Present Gatsby rejected the offer to sit and dwindled in the doorway. There was a smell to the room, a dampness, a sorrow that she was unfamiliar with. In the flickering light of the bedside lamp, the old woman looked even older. Her face seemed to sink into the fluffed pillows behind her head. Now that she was here, Gatsby wanted nothing more than to leave. She didn't want to see herself this way, so frail and sickly. The old woman coughed again. Her body shook and it took her a few minutes to find her breath again.

"The Doctor is going to be furious," future Gatsby gasped. Her chest rose and fell rapidly.

"I know," Gatsby mumbled. "But I have to ask you…well I have to ask me…"

"If he's coming back," future Gatsby finished for her. She looked at the girl sympathetically. "He hasn't left you yet." Yet. Gatsby suddenly hated that word more than she'd ever hated anything else. It implied what she already knew. He hadn't left her, but he was going to. She leaned against the wall and tried to muffle a sob.

"When does it happen?" she asked. "Why does he leave me? Do I do something wrong?" Future Gatsby smiled sadly. If only she could tell the girl…if only she could save her a universe's worth of heartbreak. It was too late though. Future Gatsby could already see it in her younger self's eyes. She was already falling in love with him, though the girl hadn't admitted it to herself yet and wouldn't for some time to come.

"I'm sorry." Future Gatsby truly was. "I can't tell you. What's going to happen has to happen."

"Why?" Gatsby demanded. "You can tell me and I can stop it! We can stay with him. It doesn't have to happen this way!"

"We can be with him forever," future Gatsby sighed, repeating the words she'd said fifty four years ago. Someday the girl would understand. Just not today. Not next year. It would take her a very long time to accept the way things had to go.

"Everyone thinks it will last forever," future Gatsby said. Speaking was difficult. There wasn't much time left, but the girl needed to hear this even if she didn't want to. "But it never does."

"I'm different," Gatsby stated. "I don't have anything to cling on to after he's gone. There's nothing for me back home. There's no Rory."

"What about our parents?"

"I don't care about them," Gatsby snapped. "The Doctor…the stars.." Her voice cracked. She couldn't say the rest. She didn't need to. Future Gatsby knew. The Doctor, the stars, that's all there is now. That's all there's ever been. Future Gatsby sat up in her nest. The Doctor would return soon and there was one last thing she needed to tell herself even though she knew she wasn't supposed to.

"Gatsby." Every syllable was a challenge. "Listen to me. You have to be careful. I…We…" She paused to catch her breath. "Great and terrible things are going to happen. You have to promise me that you'll…the Doctor is dangerous. He'll…"

"Stop!" The Doctor barged into the room. Gatsby had never seen him so angry. He grabbed her arm, the uninjured one. "I told you not to come here," he growled, dragging her away.

"He'll do what?" Gatsby cried desperately. Her future self sunk back into the pillows.

"Just be careful," she said.

"What about the people who dream?" Gatsby broke free from the Doctor's grip and rushed to the old woman. She knelt at the head of the bed. "Who are they? Why are they looking for me?" Her future self shook her head.

"You have to figure it out on your own." Gatsby reached out to grab her future self's hand, but the Doctor pulled her away before she could.

"You can't touch yourself," he barked. It had been a close call, too close. Another second and time would have been unraveled. He pushed the girl out of the room. Gatsby caught one last glance of herself before he slammed the door. He let go of her the moment they were in the hallway. Gatsby turned her back on him. Hardly any of her questions had been answered. In fact she had more than she'd set out with. What had her future self been trying to warn her about? She stared at the wall, blinking back tears.

"I'm dying, aren't I?" she mumbled. The Doctor's anger melted away. She shouldn't have come. She should never have known.

"Yes," he said. Gatsby took in a shuddering breath. "Gatsby…" The Doctor reached out to touch her, but she jerked away. For once there was nothing he could say, nothing he could do.

"I have to go back in," the Doctor said. He didn't want to leave her alone, but her future self didn't have much time. He was torn between the two of them. "Promise you'll stay here." Gatsby didn't answer. She continued to stare at the wall. The Doctor hesitated a moment before leaving her. The moment she heard the door click behind him, she crumpled to the floor and buried her face in her hands to cry alone.

The Doctor could hear her from inside the room. The sound broke his hearts.

"Come here," future Gatsby ordered. The Doctor sat beside her. "She'll be okay. I was." She took his hand and stroked it with her trembling fingers. Her Doctor. Her mad man. The love of her life. Her death. A coldness was beginning at her toes and spreading through her legs. She had to hold on for just a little while longer.

"Doctor," she whispered. He rested his head beside hers on the pillow to hear her faint words. His hair tickled her cheek. She felt his tears slide down her neck. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him cry, but it was the last she ever would.

"You have to take Lemmy with you." The old woman's chest rattled. "You have to…take care of him."

"I will," the Doctor promised. "I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For leaving you." She squeezed his hand.

"What if I'm the one who leaves you?" future Gatsby chuckled.

"Then I'm sorry for letting you go." She'd promised herself many years ago that when this moment came she wouldn't cry, but promises were made to be broken. Oh, she'd missed him. She'd never stopped missing him. She'd never stopped loving him and she'd never stopped hating him for what he'd done to her…what he was going to do.

"Remember how we met." Her voice was fading. She was so cold. So very cold.

"Your mirror with the painted flowers," the Doctor said.

"You were late," she muttered.

"No I wasn't."

"Yes you were, by six minutes."

"I still saved your life."

"No, you ruined my life." She'd waited a long time to tell him. "But I love you now just as much as I always have." One more breath. There was time for only one more word. "Doctor…" And as she said his name for the final time, the old woman asked herself a question. Knowing what she knew now, would she still have gone with him. The answer was yes. It had always been yes.

The Doctor didn't move for a long time. He held her hand as it grew colder. Her last words chimed in his head. You ruined my life…but I love you…He'd never been there for the end of one of his companion's lives. Although he feared that he'd ruined each and every one of them by asking them to join him, he'd never had to hear them say it. He'd never been so confronted with the truth and he couldn't lie to himself now. He couldn't pretend that he was doing them all a favor by showing them the stars, by saving them from their boring human lives. They would have survived without him. They would have carried on, eating their chips and drinking their tea. They would have died surrounded by loved ones.

The Doctor let go of the old woman's hand. He kissed her forehead.

"Gatsby Goode," he whispered against her wrinkles. "You truly were good. You were a star." Then he left her for the first and the final time.

* * *

><p>The little girl took the strange man's hand, still laughing at the joke he'd told her about the doctor and the curtains. She wondered for a moment if she should tell her mother where she was going, but the man had promised to have her home before anyone noticed she was missing.<p>

"Where are we going?" she asked him. The man smiled down at her. She was too young to realize that the smile was fake.

"Trust me," he said.

Gatsby was woken suddenly from her fitful slumber by a banging on the door. She rolled over in the bed she hadn't left in two days and pulled the pillow over her head.

"Go away," she growled.

"You have to come out sometime." Amy's voice carried through the wood. Gatsby didn't want to hear her. She didn't want to hear anyone. As far as she was concerned, she'd died two days ago. Her future was dead, so what was the point of having a present?

"Gatsby, please come out," Amy pleaded. There wasn't anything to talk about. What could any of them say? Gatsby had been there for her own death. She was pretty sure none of the other's knew how that felt. The weight of knowing was too much. She should have listened to the Doctor. She shouldn't have gone. It was too late now.

"Gatsby Goode, open this door right now," Amy demanded. Gatsby sunk further into her blankets. She sunk further into herself. Her future self's words were still banging around in her head._ Great and terrible things are going to happen. You have to promise me that you'll…the Doctor is dangerous. He'll…_ He'll what? He'll what?

Amy set the tray of food by the door and rejoined the other's in the living room. Rory was pretending to read the paper, but he wasn't fooling anyone. He folded the news and set it aside when Amy plopped down beside him. She nestled into her husband's side, feeling helpless. There was nothing she could do for the girl. Nothing at all.

Lemmy was curled up on the other end of the couch, sleeping soundly for the first time since the Doctor had brought him here. Amy reached out absently and stroked the child's hair. She looked over at the Doctor, standing by the window. Everyone in the house was at a standstill. It seemed future Gatsby had taken time with her when she'd died. The Doctor had brooded by the window day and night. Amy hadn't slept in two days, kept awake by the alien boy's night terrors. Rory had taken off work to help in any way he could, but there didn't seem to be anything for him to do. Gatsby had locked herself away in the guest bedroom. None of them had seen her since.

Enough was enough. They couldn't remain frozen forever. Future Gatsby was gone, but present Gatsby was still alive with fifty four years ahead of her. Amy knew that there was only one person who could get through to the girl. Unfortunately that one person, for once in his life, didn't have a clue what to do.

"Doctor, you have to talk to her," Amy whispered, so as not to wake up the boy. She'd given him time to mourn. She'd been patient. But the funny thing about death is that everyone else has to keep going. Time doesn't really stop.

"You shouldn't have let her out of the house." The Doctor rounded on Amy. "I told you to keep an eye on her."

"What was I supposed to do?" Amy snapped. "Tie her up?"

"Yes," the Doctor said.

"This isn't her fault." Rory jumped to his wife's defense. "You should have told the girl where you were going." The Doctor backed down. Of course it wasn't Amy's fault. It wasn't Gatsby's fault. It was his. Future Gatsby had died a lonely old woman in the wrong time period because of him. Present Gatsby was traumatized because of him.

"Amy, I'm sor-"

"I know," Amy cut him off. "Now go talk to her." The Doctor didn't know what to say to the girl, but Amy was right. He had to do something. The truth was he was afraid. He was afraid of looking into Gatsby Goode's eyes and seeing the old woman she'd become. He was afraid of what future Gatsby had told him right before she'd died. Her last accusation._ You ruined my life_. Essentially the Doctor was a selfish being. He loved them and he left them. He'd left Gatsby. At least he would, and it would ruin her. He was afraid of the guilt he couldn't rid himself of. Though none of it mattered. He couldn't change anything now. He'd asked Gatsby to come with him and she'd agreed. They always agreed. They trusted him and every time he abandoned them, but he couldn't abandon Gatsby now. Not this time.

The Doctor knocked on the guest bedroom door. He waited exactly sixty seven seconds before unlocking it with his sonic screwdriver and barging right in. He ducked just in time to avoid the pillow that soared across the room.

"Get out," Gatsby grumbled. She pulled the covers over her head. "I don't want to talk to you."

"Too bad." The Doctor sat down at the head of the bed and pulled the covers back. Gatsby glared up at him through bloodshot eyes. She'd been crying. Of course she had. She tried to take the blankets back, but he held them firmly, so she rolled over and turned her back to him instead. He was the last person she wanted to see.

"Come on, Goode. It's time to get up. Planets to save, you know." Not even he was convinced by the false cheeriness in his voice.

"Then go save them," she muttered.

"It won't be any fun without you." She didn't respond. He poked her back and she scooted away. "I thought we could go to this moon in the Delta Twenty. There are trees there that grow blue bananas the size of a human toddlers. What do you say?"

"I hate bananas."

"No one hates bananas."

"I do. Now leave me alone. Just fly away in your stupid box and come back in fifty four years to watch me die."

"I'm not going to do that," the Doctor stated. "I'm not going anywhere without you." Gatsby snorted into the sheets.

"Yes you are. You're going to leave me." Her voice caught in a sob. So that's what this was all about. The Doctor sighed. He stretched out beside her on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.

"I was late," he said. Gatsby didn't want to talk to him, but she was curious. He felt her shift just a bit. "I was six minutes late. I'm sorry. You waited for me for three years. The least I could have done was show up on time."

"I didn't wait for you," she sniffled.

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't, and I'm not going to wait for you after you leave me.

"I don't want you to." But she would. They both knew it. Gatsby flipped over onto her back. Together they stared at the ceiling. It was a boring ceiling. An ordinary ceiling. A horrendously tacky popcorn ceiling.

"Do you want to go home?" the Doctor asked.

"No," she answered promptly, automatically. That was definitely not what she wanted.

"Do you want to go to the banana moon?"

"I don't want to die," she murmured. What she meant was that she didn't want to ever be apart from him. She didn't want whatever was going to happen in the future or even death to come between them.

"You've got fifty four years. That's a long time." But it wasn't a brain tumor that would kill her. Gatsby knew that the moment he left would be the moment she died. It could be today, tomorrow, five years or twenty years from now. She didn't know. Gatsby turned her head to look at him to find that he was already looking at her. The tips of their noses almost, just almost touched.

"Why me?" she asked. "Why did you ask me to come with you?"

"Wrong place, wrong time," he teased. She wasn't amused. She wanted a real answer. The Doctor's grin slipped away. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His fingers against her cheek sent tingles through her body. It was a sensation she'd never experienced before and didn't understand.

"I chose you because you didn't know what a book was," he said. Gatsby raised an eyebrow skeptically. "I chose you because you're from the most boring century that ever existed, but you still tried to see the stars at night." Then his grin returned. "Also you have freckles." He tweaked her spotted nose. "I never could resist a girl with freckles." The corner of her lips tweaked into the hint of a smile. She'd never liked her freckles as much as she did right then.

"Why did you come with me?" the Doctor asked.

"Because it was the right thing to do." She wasn't sure what she meant by it, but as she said the words she knew they were true. She was supposed to go with the Doctor. If she'd known what fate was, she'd have said it was fate. Their time wasn't over yet. Their adventure had just begun.

"We know how the story ends," the Doctor said. "But what about all of the stuff in the middle?"

"The burnt toast," Gatsby chuckled.

"The best parts." Or perhaps the worst parts. There was no way to know until she lived it. Gatsby had a choice to make. She'd flipped to the end of the book and seen that there was no happily ever after, but perhaps there was a happily ever middle. It was a risk. It was a leap. It was the Doctor. It was her decision.

Gatsby sat up and left the bed for the first time in two days. She wasn't dead. Yet. That word, yet, didn't seem so terrible now. In fact, it was exciting. She and the Doctor still had a yet. A middle. A story that wasn't finished.

"So these brown bananas," she said, smiling.

"Blue," the Doctor corrected. He held out his hand and she took it.

The Doctor flung open the door that had been locked minutes before. Amy and Rory were standing just on the other side, waiting expectantly. Amy took one look at their intertwined hands, then the girl's face, and knew that everything was going to be okay. For now.

"Leaving again?" she guessed.

"You could come with us," the Doctor said. Amy looked at her husband. She felt the baby wriggle.

"I'll pass." She elbowed Rory in the ribs. "Someone has to look after this idiot." Rory wrapped his arm around her. They smiled at each other and in that moment Gatsby understood what love really looked like. It wasn't always pretty. It wasn't always happily ever after. It was burnt toast and broken plates. It was a risk. It was giving up everything in the world, even the stars, for someone else. It was absolutely worth it.

"Don't be a stranger," Amy said as she hugged the Doctor and then the girl.

"Or do," Rory added, but he shook the Doctor's hand anyways.

"Take care of our Doctor," Amy whispered into the girl's ear before pulling away and returning to her husband's embrace. Gatsby would do the best that she could for as long as she was able.

The Doctor made a quick stop in the living room to scoop the sleeping Lemmy into his arms. Amy and Rory followed them to the back door and watched the odd trio disappear into the blue box. There was a groan, a gasp, and the Tardis was gone. Amy doubted she'd ever see the Doctor again, but he was in good hands. She'd be able to sleep peacefully knowing that he wasn't alone. She had a new story to live, with Rory and the baby, and she was ready now.

The Doctor leaves. In one way or another. Nothing lasts forever, but that's what makes very special things special. On nights when it's storming and lighting strikes, there's a brief moment when the whole world lights up. The Doctor is that moment; when night becomes day, fleeting and beautiful, against the rules. The lightning had already struck for Amy, but Gatsby was still caught in the storm. This was only the middle, the end, and most importantly the beginning of the story.


	21. Twenty: Two Left Feet and No Shoes

Disclaimer: I do not own Doctor Who.

Author's Note: At last, a new chapter. It's not the best, sorry. Hold tight for a more eventful one to come next. Read, review and hopefully enjoy.

* * *

><p>"<em>A straight line may be the shortest distance between two points, but it is by no means the most interesting."<em>

Gatsby was on the brink of an afternoon nap, a much deserved nap, the perfect middle of the day and finally nothing to do nap, when the Doctor barged into her room waving a shredded loafer over his head. There was lightning in his eyes. Gatsby groaned. She knew that look. There was only one reason for that look. She hated what happened when he had that look.

"He ate my shoe!" the Doctor cried, waving the ruined loafer under her nose. It smelled of the ocean with a hint of caviar.

"He what?" Gatsby sat up and pushed him away.

"Your orphan alien thingy took a great big bite out of my loafer." The Doctor rarely called Lemmy by his proper name. Well, neither did Gatsby. The boy's birth name was impossible for anyone but a Bettadotta citizen to say. Its pronunciation was something like the sound a cat smoking a cigar might make when run over by a lawn mower, but the Doctor even refused to call him by the name future Gatsby had given him. He was the orphan alien thingy or the vortex defibrillator violator or some other ridiculous title he'd earned during his two weeks on the Tardis.

"Maybe he's hungry," Gatsby suggested.

"Then feed him," the Doctor snapped.

"Why don't you?"

"I've got more important things to do, Goode! There's an entire universe out there that needs my attention. I don't have time to cut the crusts off of his sandwiches."

"You were watching the football game," Gatsby accused. She knew he had a special fondness for football. He never missed a game. The Doctor flushed, caught red-handed.

"My shoe!" he cried, not knowing what else to say.

"You have a thousand more pairs."

"But this one was my favorite. See, it has tassels." With a groan, Gatsby swung her legs over the bed. She didn't know who was more of a child; Lemmy of the Doctor. They hadn't had to save the universe for two weeks, but between the two of them, Gatsby still hadn't managed a single moment of rest. Lemmy was constantly underfoot. She couldn't go ten minutes without hearing a clatter, a bang or a yelp. She couldn't go ten minutes without the Doctor barging in to complain about something or other the alien boy had done. They were both driving her crazy.

Gatsby pushed past the Doctor, leaving him to mourn his tasseled loafer, and made her way to the kitchen. It hadn't been her idea to bring the alien boy with them. It had been the Doctor's. He'd made future Gatsby a promise to take care of Lemmy, but he was a terrible guardian. He had no patience whatsoever. If only future Gatsby could have asked for anything else. It had been too long since he'd had to care for children. He'd forgotten how awful the little mites could be. He hadn't known, or considered, just exactly what he was getting himself into.

Gatsby was just as clueless on the subject of child rearing, especially alien child rearing. She didn't have the faintest idea what to do with the boy, but the Doctor seemed to think that she did. Perhaps it was because she was a woman. Perhaps it was because in the future she would adopt the very boy that she couldn't control now. Whatever the reason, the Doctor had left all of the caretaking duties in her hands; hands that had never changed a diaper or wiped a smudge of jelly from the corner of a child's mouth or soothed anyone to sleep. She couldn't even look to her own mother for advice. Mothers in the 32nd British Empire were strictly hands off. Gatsby couldn't remember a time her mother had touched her, let alone cut the crusts off of her sandwiches.

She was treading water. The Doctor had finally given her too big of a task. Gatsby wasn't a mother. She was hardly more than a child herself. Yet someone had to do it and the Doctor was too upset over the loss of his shoe to attend to the boy's needs. He was too busy watching the football game or too busy worrying about all of time and space. At least those were the excuses he used, but really he just didn't like the boy and he didn't trust him on the Tardis, with good reason. After all in two weeks Lemmy had managed to fill the swimming pool with custard, clog the vortex defibrillator with jam doughnuts and worst of all he'd destroyed half a dozen of the Doctor's suspenders trying to make a bungee cord to launch himself into a black hole.

"Aliens," Gatsby muttered to herself as she stepped into the kitchen. Lemmy was there at the counter, nibbling on the other loafer.

"How about a grilled cheese instead?" Gatsby took the shoe from the boy. There were only a few teeth scuffs, but she hid it under the sink anyways to save herself from having to listen to another of the Doctor's rants. Lemmy grinned up at her. Without his perception filter, he still bore a striking resemblance to a human child, except for the pointed teeth, which explained his love for gnawing on leather, and the magnificent lavender shade of his slanted eyes. His normal appearance had unnerved Gatsby at first, but she'd become accustomed to his oddities. Children were children no matter their species.

She had a soft spot for the boy. Despite his mischievous ways, he was quite sweet when he wasn't setting man-eating beasts loose in London. Lemmy never listened to the Doctor, but he was obedient enough when Gatsby ordered a command. He was smart for his age. He knew who she was. He knew that somehow she was the same person as the old woman who had taken him in. He didn't miss the old lady because she was still here, even if her face was less wrinkled and she didn't smell like cabbage. In fact, he was happier than he'd been since his parents had sent him away. The Blue Box was much more fun than Earth had been. It was closer to home.

Gatsby slapped a plate down in front of the boy. Lemmy scrunched up his nose at the sandwich and poked it. It was squishy.

"Eat," Gatsby ordered. "You'll like it." She didn't know that mother's all across the universe were telling their children the same thing at that exact moment. Lemmy reluctantly took a bite of the squishy thing. He didn't like it. Not at all. He much preferred the shoes. Gatsby plopped down across from him and folded her arms on the counter.

"You're not going anywhere until you finish that sandwich," she stated.

"It tastes like Bugga-beast dung," Lemmy whined. She narrowed her eyes at him threateningly. The boy glared back. It was a grilled cheese sandwich standoff.

"If you eat the sandwich the Doctor will you let you play with the hologram recorder." Gatsby won. She doubted the Doctor would let him do any such thing, but Lemmy was too young to understand the finesse of little white lies. He forced himself to take another bite of the grilled cheese.

Absently Gatsby took a napkin and rubbed clean a smudge of grease on his chin. No one knows how to be a mother. It isn't something that can be learned from books. It's a skill that people acquire after they've been plunged into the world of parenting. It's an instinct that waits patiently for the opportune, or inopportune, moment to jump out of the shadows and steal your purse. Motherhood is a military strategy that not even the boldest generals are willing to risk using. It's a long con, a day by day lesson that no one can master. Gatsby was doing her best. She didn't know that mothers all across the universe were doing the same thing.

"Now was that so bad?" she asked once Lemmy's plate was clean.

"Yes," the boy grumbled. Gatsby sighed. She unlaced her own shoe and gave it to him. Sometimes being a mother is about compromise. Eat your vegetable first and you can have a tennis shoe for dessert. So on and so forth.

"Gats, walfhn."

"Don't talk with your mouth full," she chided. Lemmy stopped sucking on the toe of her shoe.

"I'm bored."

"We can try out the playground the Doctor installed for you. It has a slide and everything." Lemmy scowled at the idea. "Okay, how about I read you a story. There are thousands in the library." Lemmy shook his head adamantly. He hated books more than he hated slides. What he really wanted was to be back on Bettadotta chasing Bugga-beasts and catching glowing starbugs. The Blue Box was certainly better than being on Earth, but it still wasn't home. The boy looked down at his empty plate. His bottom lip began to tremble.

"Hey now," Gatsby murmured. "Don't cry." She rounded the counter to stand beside him. Her hand hovered over his shoulder. What was she supposed to do? She'd never comforted a sad child before. She wracked her brain for answers, for the next step, while the first tears trickled from the corners of Lemmy's eyes.

"I want to go home," the boy sobbed. And like children do when they are lost and alone, he reached out for the person closest to him. He wrapped his arms around Gatsby's waist and buried his face in her stomach. He reminded her of the Doctor, a misplaced little boy who could never go home and who held onto whoever he could find. She stopped searching for the perfect things to say. She stopped thinking about what do to next. Instead she acted on what she felt. Gatsby stroked the boy's hair.

"I know you do," she said. "And I wish we could take you back." Lemmy blinked up at her.

"Why can't you?" Gatsby sighed. The questions children asked were always the hardest to answer. She pulled the boy into her lap. Of course he didn't understand why he couldn't go home. She could explain to him about the Bethbells and how they'd taken over his planet, but she knew, or rather she felt, that it wouldn't comfort him.

"You know, I'm a long way from home too," Gatsby said. "The Doctor kind of took me just like he did you."

"Your parents sent you away too?"

"No. I chose to leave."

"Why?" Lemmy sniffled a bit, but he'd stopped crying.

"You think you're bored now? The place I'm from is much, much worse. It's the most boring place in the universe. I think I would have died there, but the Doctor, he saved me." In more ways than one. "See, I was very sick and no one knew why. Then one day the Doctor stormed into my room. I thought he was crazy."

"What was wrong with you?" Future Gatsby had never told him any of this. She'd never even told him about the Doctor.

"There were these awful smoke monsters. They lived in my mirror and they made me sick. The Doctor got rid of them. He asked me if I wanted to travel with him. I didn't think about it at the time. I just said yes."

"Did you still think he was crazy?"

"Absolutely," Gatsby chuckled. "But I'm glad I went with him." She flicked the little boy's nose and smiled. "Because I got to meet you. It's hard, I know, being away from home, but you've got me and the Doctor. We'll take care of you and maybe someday we'll be able to take you back to your parents." Lemmy brightened at her tentative promise. "Until then you have to stop eating the Doctor's shoes."

"Or I'll toss you into a Supernova." Gatsby looked up, surprised to find the Doctor standing in the doorway. She wasn't sure how long he'd been there, but he didn't seem angry anymore and she was grateful for that. She tickled the boy under his chin until he smile reluctantly and then slid him back to his stool.

"Don't worry," she whispered into Lemmy's ear. "I won't let him do anything like that."

"As if you could stop me. I'm a Time Lord," the Doctor said smugly.

"Yeah, and I'm human. Don't underestimate us."

"Never." The Doctor made his way to them and slapped a torn envelope onto the counter.

"What's this?" Gatsby picked up the envelope curiously. It was made out of a type of paper she'd never seen before; reflective and slivery.

"It's mail," the Doctor answered.

"You get mail?"

"Of course I do. Do you have any idea how many wedding invitations I get?" Gatsby didn't have any idea. She was hardly listening to him as she slid a folded piece of paper from the strange envelope. The handwriting was too flourished for her to read.

"Well, is this a wedding invitation then?" Gatsby asked. The Doctor shook his head. He was rocking back and forth on his heels. A grin creeping across his lips.

"Much better," he said.

"Doctor, just tell me," Gatsby sighed. He snatched the letter from her hands and waved it over his head.

"I've won the grand prize!" he exclaimed.

"The what?"

"Grand prize," he repeated slowly. "The lottery. The new car behind the curtain. The beach house on Carragulla." He was practically dancing.

"Carra where?"

"It's like Miami, but instead of rainbow fish there are actual swimming rainbows in the ocean."

"And you've won a house there?"

"No," the Doctor said exasperatedly. Once again he'd forgotten that her mind didn't go at supersonic speed. Gatsby gaped at him, utterly bewildered. "Forget the beach house. I don't know what I've won. It could be anything. This letter-" He wiggled the piece of paper under her nose. "Says that we have to go to the Prodechomai Space Station to collect my winnings. I've already set the coordinates."

"Hold on a minute." Gatsby held up her hands. She didn't like this. Not one bit. A mysterious letter. A mysterious prize. "Why didn't they just tell you what you won?"

"Well, that wouldn't be any fun, now would it, Goode?"

"I don't like it." Gatsby stood up and put her hands on her hips. "We shouldn't go. It could be dangerous." She glanced meaningfully at Lemmy, who was content chewing on her shoe again. Since the boy had joined them, Gatsby had made the Doctor promise they would put saving the universe on hold for a while. Jumping from planet to planet, risking their lives on a daily basis, was all fine and well when there wasn't a child involved.

"Come on," the Doctor wheedled. "Don't be such a spoil sport."

"A what?"

"A party pooper."

"I would never defecate at a party!" Gatsby cried defensively. "That would be incredibly rude."

"It's an expression," the Doctor groaned. When she continued to look at him blankly, he hurried on. "Oh, never mind. It's the grand prize, Goode. We can't not go. It could be a new pair of tasseled loafers." Gatsby wanted to argue. She wasn't convinced. There was a wriggly feeling deep in her stomach, a terribly uneasy feeling about all of this. She was well aware that the Doctor couldn't go anywhere without landing himself, and her, into trouble. She was also well aware that it was pointless trying to talk some sense into him when he was excited about something.

"Fine," she relented. "But if anything goes wrong, we leave."

"What could go wrong?" Before she could answer, the Doctor was skipping out of the kitchen. Gatsby rested her hands on Lemmy's shoulders. What could go wrong? She'd heard that a thousand times since she'd flown away with him, and whenever he said it something terrible always followed. The question wasn't what could go wrong. The question was what would go wrong.

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><p>"How do I look?" The Doctor spun in a 360.<p>

"Like an idiot," Gatsby muttered. She stepped up to him and straightened his bow tie. A beautiful idiot, she thought to herself. They'd made it the Space Station without any trouble, but the Doctor had changed his tie at least a dozen times. He'd even gone so far as to shine his shoes.

"Maybe I should change back into the other suspenders."

"You know some of us actually have to worry about getting old. What you're wearing is fine."

"Are you sure? The other suspenders-"

"Look just like these. When did you start caring about fashion?"

"I've always cared."

"Really? It hasn't showed."

"I happen to be very trendy," the Doctor protested. "Besides it's not every day I win the grand prize." Gatsby rolled her eyes. She wanted to get this over with, preferably in one piece, but she'd settle for two pieces if it came down to that.

"Well you're very handsome today. Can we go now?" The Doctor ran his fingers through his hair in a last minute attempt to make it behave.

"Alright," he said at last. "Shall we?" The Doctor held out his arm for her. He was reaching for the door when she remembered they'd forgotten something.

"Lemmy!" she called.

"Do we really have to bring him?" the Doctor grumbled.

"Unless you want to leave him alone with the Tardis…" He certainly didn't. Though he muttered under his breath while they waited for the boy, he made no further complaints. Lemmy skidded into the room.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"The Protégé Space Station."

"Prodechomai," the Doctor corrected.

"As if I'll ever be able to pronounce that one," Gatsby groaned. The words seemed to become more ridiculous by the day. She took Lemmy's hand and held it tightly.

"Now you stay with me," she ordered. "No wandering off, understood?" Lemmy nodded. She still didn't trust him. Between the boy and the Doctor she doubted the Space Station would survive their visit.

"Beach house, here I come!" The Doctor threw open the blue doors and together they left the Tardis. Gatsby had never been on a Space Station before. She expected complicated chrome piping or walls made of gold. She expected the air to be heavy with exhaust fumes or big windows into space. She expected something exciting. She was disappointed.

They took one step outside of the blue box and found themselves in a line. The longest line Gatsby had ever seen. The longest line even the Doctor had seen. It stretched on and on and on. The line was what infinity would look like if infinity was a physical thing that could have an appearance at all. And they were at the end of it.

The walls weren't made of gold. In fact, the Space Station reminded her of home; grey and dull. The ground thrummed beneath their feet. Deep below engines stirred and they were the only thing moving. The line surely didn't seem to be. Nor did anyone in it. Most of them were asleep. The air was not filled with fumes. It was filled with snores.

"I don't see a beach house," Gatsby said, standing on her tip toes for a glimpse of the line's end. She quickly stopped trying. "Are you sure this is the right place?"

"Of course I'm sure," the Doctor snapped, though he wasn't. This wasn't what he'd expected either. A line? If he had to wait in line for his prize then he didn't want it. There were certain things the Doctor never did; waiting in line happened to be one of them. Using his fingers to do sums was another.

"I'll just nip back and check," he said. "Wait here." He turned around to go back into the Tardis only to find that there was no Tardis. There was only a red rope where the Blue Box had been.

"Goode, try not to panic," he said slowly, staring at the grey wall in front of him.

"Why would I…Where is the Tardis?" She gaped at the empty space. She gaped at the Doctor, and then she glowered. "I knew this was a bad idea! What could go wrong," she mimicked. "This! You've lost the Tardis. I'd say that's something gone wrong!"

"You're panicking. I didn't lose it. I just, erm, misplaced it."

"You!" She poked him hard in the chest. "You were too worried about which bow tie to wear and forgot to put on the brakes."

"I did not!"

"Did to!"

"Did not."

"The floor ate it." Gatsby and the Doctor rounded on Lemmy.

"Not now," Gatsby snapped. "I don't want to hear any of your stories." She turned back to the Doctor. "I told you this was a trap. I told you we shouldn't have come, you brainless twit. We're stranded here and it's your fault."

"I'm not lying," Lemmy whined, tugging at her sleeve. "The floor did eat the box. I saw it!"

"Lemmy, I swear, if you don't-" Gatsby wasn't able to finish her threat. She was cut off by a voice that seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere.

"Welcome Doctor," the voice said. "Congratulations, you have won the grand prize." The voice was smooth. It was velvet. It was eternal peace. Gatsby forgot that she'd ever been angry in her life. The three of them froze. They grinned dreamily as the voice washed over them. "Your transport will be returned to at the end of the line. Please remain calm and keep within the red rope." The voice faded away, taking the momentary peace along with it. Gatsby blinked free from its spell. For a moment she'd been in love with that voice.

"I told you so." Lemmy was the first to speak. "The floor did take the box." He crossed his arms and stared up at the adults. Gatsby felt shame creep into her cheeks.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Apology accepted," the Doctor answered.

"I wasn't talking to you," she snapped. "We're still stranded and it's still your fault."

"You're being a party pooper again. This is a teensy weensy glitch in the plan. We'll get the Tardis back and everything will be fine."

"And how are we going to do that?" Gatsby asked skeptically. Although the Doctor hated to say it, there didn't seem to be any other options.

"You heard the voice. We're going to wait." The three of them looked ahead at the line. At infinity. Gatsby slumped against the cold, metal wall, settling in for a long haul. Waiting was the one thing she'd never had to do since she'd joined the Doctor. She'd never wanted to wait for anything again. She'd rather they have stumbled into the apocalypse on some foreign planet than this

"I'm bored," Lemmy complained after five minutes had passed.

"Eat the Doctor's shoes," Gatsby grumbled. When, if, they made it back to the Tardis she was going to feed the boy every single one of the Doctor's loafers. This was worse than anything she'd imagined. The Tardis was gone. They were stuck at the end of infinity. Whatever this mysterious prize was, it had better be fantastic. It had better be worth the wait. Gatsby doubted anything was worth waiting for eternity.


End file.
